


Time for Plum Pie?

by eggbugg



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Alcohol, Bucky Barnes Has Panic Attacks, Bucky Barnes Recovering, Domestic Fluff, F/M, First Meetings, Fluff, Insecure Bucky Barnes, Mentions of Cancer, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Panic Attacks, Past Domestic Violence, Post-Captain America: The Winter Soldier, Pre-Captain America: Civil War (Movie), Robbery, Self-Esteem Issues, Slow Romance, Swearing, Worldbuilding
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-01
Updated: 2021-02-28
Packaged: 2021-03-14 19:20:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 37,298
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28675854
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eggbugg/pseuds/eggbugg
Summary: What was Bucky Barnes really up to between CAtWS and CACW?Why, recovering in a small town in Western New York state with the aid of a young woman named Elle who needs him just as much as he needs her. It's a story of domesticity, learning to live with oneself and moving forwards.An ungodly amount of fluff wrapped in coffee, whiskey, soft blankets and rainstorms.
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes/Original Female Character(s)
Comments: 1
Kudos: 10





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This story has been a labor of love over the past three years. I've never shared any of my writing with anyone, and I'm beyond excited to finally give Bucky Barnes the love and home he deserves. 
> 
> Please enjoy. 
> 
> Updated on Sundays.
> 
> Find me on tumblr at egg-bugg.

Tuesday April 29 

I was working late one night at the end of April when he first came into the diner. The night was warm, filled with fresh spring air. 

“Need a top off, Ed?” I approached the customer with a fresh pot of coffee. 

“Oh, yes please!” He said smiling. Ed had lived in Oakville his entire life, the same as me, but he had quite a few years on me. “Honest to goodness, this diner has the best coffee this side of the Mississippi!” He exclaimed, taking a sip of the hot stuff. 

I smiled warmly at him, deciding not to tell him it was the cheapest option from the wholesale distributor. “Glad you like it.” I walked back to the other counter and returned the coffee pot to its hot plate. 

Denise peered through the kitchen window at me, “Nearly closing time, Elle!” 

I checked my own leather-bound watch, 10:35 PM. The diner closed every night at 11. 

“Almost!” I shouted back at her. We were the only two left in the diner, and I was psyched to get out of the grease shack for the day. I turned around and scanned the restaurant to see who was left. Ed was at the counter reading the newspaper, a few construction workers were at one booth finishing their third bout of pancakes, and two stressed high school age students were throwing complicated chemistry problems at each other, probably studying for an exam. 

I sighed and reached for my mother’s ring like I always did when I didn’t know what to do with my hands. I looked down at my right hand; the red stone set into the ring matched the burn I had gotten a few hours earlier after accidentally laying my hand across the griddle trying to help Denise with the dinner rush. 

No good deed goes unpunished, I guess. 

While I looked over the burn, the construction workers all got up and headed over to the cash register. I bounded down past the long countertop to meet them there. To keep up with the diner’s historical feel, we still used an old fashioned cash register. I hated the damn thing, simply because it was twice the size of a normal machine and none of the buttons worked. We used a paperclip to keep the door from completely shutting and calculated check amounts by hand. With 90% of an undergraduate chemistry degree, I had little trouble doing the math in my head. While I was ringing up the group of men, I heard the bell above the door ring. 

_ Another customer,  _ the thought mundanely brushed across my mind.

“Thank you, have a nice night,” I said three times as each of the men paid and made his way to the exit. I quickly stuffed my own tip into the pouch of my apron before taking another deep breath as I made my way back down the counter to wait on the newest customer.

“Hello,” I said quickly, grabbing a menu. He turned and looked up at me with his hands folded together on the counter; they were wrapped in dark leather gloves, the cheap kind you’d find at a gas station or minute-mart type place. I slid him a menu and a wrapped set of utensils across the counter, “I’ll be back in a minute to get your order.” 

It was a little odd that he was wearing gloves on such a warm night, but I had seen much stranger things at the diner over the past few years. My head was numb from lethargy as I considered it, heading to clear the table where the men had just left. I tried to work quickly, desperate to leave for the day but the nozzle of the spray bottle clogged. Muttered curses left my lips as the conversation two tables away wafted into earshot.

“I can’t get this one equation,” One complained

“We’re doomed for tomorrow.” The other said

_ Been there.  _ I sympathized, tripping over nearly four straight years of chemistry classes. I nestled the plastic bin of dishes under my arm and carefully crept behind the girl’s booth to get a glance at the equation, a single nerve of excitement bulging in my brain.

“You’re missing a Hydrogen on the left” I blurted out. 

One girl whirled around and stared at me. The other grabbed the notebook and scanned the equation, her face morphing into one of shock, “She’s right.” 

My face grew hot, “Ha, lucky guess.” I flashed a smile and moved to duck behind the counter. I set the bin of dishes next to the sink where Denise was scrubbing a pot and rubbed my hands together. 

“Chemistry whiz, huh?” 

“Shut up,” I mumbled. 

I ran a hand through my ponytail and pulled the order pad from my apron pocket as I made my way back to the man at the counter. 

He was still studying the menu, clutched into his gloved hands when I approached him, “Ready to order?” I asked with a forced smile. 

Besides his obvious muscular physique and strange hand-fashion choice, the next thing I noticed about him was his startlingly tired blue eyes when he looked up at me from beneath the dark baseball cap. It looked like he had been awake for days. 

“Yeah, can I get a cup of coffee and a slice of apple pie?” 

We locked eyes as he handed me the menu, “Sure,” My forced smile recast itself as genuine, do you want that warmed up?”

A small smile formed across his own lips as though he had just recalled a fond memory, “That sounds great.” 

“Coming right up.”

He put his elbows up onto the counter and rubbed his eyes after handing me the menu. I slid the menu back into place and grabbed a mug and the coffee pot, settling it down and filling the mug with steaming java joy. 

“That’s a nasty burn you got there.” He said, folding his arms and nodding to my hand that was holding the coffee pot. 

I smiled easily, “Wrong place at the wrong time, I guess.” 

He chuckled then thanked me for the coffee. 

“Welcome. That pie’ll be right up.” 

I turned on my heel and walked back to get a slice of pie. Denise was leaning up against the sink and still smirking. 

“What?” I asked, pumping soap onto my hands. 

“Nothing.” She said, looking towards the man, who was now scanning the walls of the restaurant, every inch filled with old pictures and antique items all related to the  _ glorious  _ town of Oakville, New York. 

I dried my hands, plated the last of an apple pie, and quickly placed it into the oven. 

“You know,” I started, “Maybe Mr. Beaconsfield will be open to something other than dress shoes if we ask nicely,” I complained bitingly. 

Denise snorted, “At least we don’t have to wear those awful skirts anymore.” 

I smiled, “True.” I looked down at my light blue collared shirt buttoned to the top and black checkered pants covered with a canvas apron that had my name embroidered on the front. Gone were the days when I would wear my shirt with one or two buttons undone, stolen when someone suggested I might get a bigger tip if a few more were unbuttoned. 

“Hey Elle, are you ever gonna finish your degree?” Denise asked, moving closer. 

Just then the oven beeped, “Saved by the bell.” I shrugged at her, heading towards the oven.

She scoffed, heading over to take care of the chemistry girls who had both just gotten up from their table. I breathed a sigh of relief as I took the slice from the oven and plated it. I knew Denise cared, but there were some things I wasn’t ready to face. 

I took the pie back out to the man, “Here you are.” 

“Thanks,” He nodded.

“More coffee?” I asked.

“Sure.” He replied. 

I topped off his coffee mug when he asked, “How long has this place been here?” 

“Eighty-seven years. First opened in June of 1927.” I rattled off the fact like it was my job, even though I had known it from before I started there.

“Wow.” He responded, a slight smile on the corner of his lips.

There was something slightly off about him. He was still wearing his dark gloves and dark cap, but also a worn black jacket and dark green henley underneath. His shoulder-length dark hair was pushed behind his ears under his hat, which went rather well with his unkempt facial hair. Above all, he was incredibly handsome. Under his long hair and beard were a strong jawline and beautiful yet sad eyes. I also took notice of the tattered backpack on the seat next to him. 

I lingered as he took his first bite of the pie. 

“Wow.” He said again through a smile, “It’s great.” 

“I’m glad.” I smiled. I headed back towards the kitchen, setting down the coffee pot and pushing my glasses up onto my head. I rubbed my face as drowsiness began to settle in behind my eyes. I probably could’ve laid down on the kitchen floor and slept for hours, I was so tired. Denise had finished all of the other cleanings in the kitchen, and all of the other appliances were turned off. 

_ Just gotta wipe down the counters and take care of Mr. Gloves. _ I thought to myself. Denise was counting the money in the cash register, and I finished the rest of the dishes in the sink. I placed the last plate in the drying rack when Denise came up behind me. 

“Do you mind if I clock out ten minutes early? I promised Lizzy that I’d…” 

“Go.” I said instinctively, “Take care of your daughter.” 

Denise rubbed my shoulder, “Thank you.” She started to walk away but stopped and whispered, “You should give him your number.” 

I dropped the dish I was holding into the sink and Denise laughed profusely, “Have a good night!”

“You too,” I grumbled. 

I walked back out to the now nicknamed Mr. Gloves. 

“The pie was fabulous.” He smiled, looking up at me. 

“Good to hear.” I smiled back. 

He furrowed his brow a moment, “Hey, is there a motel around here?” 

“Yeah,” I leaned back against the counter, “The Oakville Motel is a block behind the diner. They always have a vacant room.” 

“Great, thank you.” He nodded. 

I smiled back and headed over towards the freezer. I locked up the freezer and turned off some of the lights behind the counter. When I looked up for Mr. Gloves, he and his pack were gone. In his place a flattened and pressed ten-dollar bill. 

_ A five-dollar tip?  _ I wasn’t complaining, but I never got that much for doing so little.  _ Maybe he was thanking me for the motel directions?  _ But even that seemed like too much. 

Over the next week, he came in nearly every day for some kind of meal. One day it was scrambled eggs for breakfast, chicken soup for lunch, or the turkey dinner, but always two cups of coffee; and after lunch and dinner, a slice of warm apple pie. He never gave his name, sat on the same stool, and always gave too much of a tip. Oh, and he never took off his gloves. Sure, he was odd, but there was surely something intriguing about him. 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter includes brief appearance of a gun and OC panic attack

Friday May 2

Mr. Gloves was in late on the following Friday, around 10:45. He wore his leather jacket over top a red shirt that time. By this time, I knew his late-night order. I set a mug down in front of him and poured the last of a pot of coffee. 

“Thanks.” He smiled.

“Your regular?” I asked, almost teasingly. 

“Of course.” He almost teased back. I chuckled and went back to make another pot of coffee. Normally I would have been annoyed that I had to brew a pot so late, but for some reason, I didn’t mind doing it for Mr. Gloves. Besides him, only two other people were at tables, each about ready to finish. 

_Maybe tonight I’ll talk to him._ I told myself the same thing that last time he was here late, but I never did, or he left before I could. Because it was Friday, Denise and the other staff had gone home. I rarely worked on the weekends thanks to seniority, so I figured I would put in a little extra work on Friday nights. 

Unfortunately, I didn’t know how stressful the evening would get. 

I tossed a piece of apple pie in the oven and went to ring up to the two customers who had just wandered over to the cash register. 

By the time I had finished ringing up customers and clearing their tables, Mr. Gloves’ pie was ready. I plated it and took it out to him, bracing myself for conversation. 

“Here you go,” I said, sliding him the plate. 

He looked up and smiled, “Thank you.” 

I lingered around him, wiping down the counter behind me. I was about to ask him how long he was in town for when another man walked in. 

I sighed a little too loud and Mr. Gloves looked up at me. My eyes avoided him as I made my way down to the stool where the new man was near the cash register. 

I handed him a menu and some utensils, “Coffee?” I asked involuntarily.

“Sure.” He growled. The man didn’t look very unsettling, but something in his voice was off. He was ghostly pale with thinning blonde hair and wore an oversized denim jacket over an old-looking white undershirt.

I poured coffee while I continued to look him over. He set down the menu and crossed his arms, putting his hands in his jacket. 

“Ready to order?” I asked. 

“Yeah.” 

I reached down to grab my pad and pen, stifling a yawn, “What can I get you?”

“I’ll take all the money in the register.” 

All the blood drained from my face and my knees weakened. I looked down to see he had pulled a small handgun from his jacket and now held it towards me in his dirt-stained hands. My pen and paper instantly slipped through my trembling fingers.

“Is there a problem?” 

“No.” I breathed, losing the feeling in my toes and feet.

He smiled a toothy grin, revealing several missing teeth, “Oh, and I’ll take that to go.” 

My hands began to shake as I reached towards the register, holding onto the counter for fear I might collapse on the spot. 

_What do I, what do I do?_ My mind raced. I went to remove the paper clip that held the drawer over, but my shaking hands caused it to fall away, locking it and all of the cash away. 

“What’s the holdup?” He asked, starting to get up from the stool. 

“Nothing, nothing,” I whispered. The last time this happened we had used a knife to wedge the drawer open, but the knives were back in the kitchen. Plus there was no way this guy would have trusted me with a knife in my hands. 

I was about to make some ruddy excuse when suddenly time seemed to move faster. 

Before I knew what had happened, Mr. Gloves had grabbed the thief’s gun and clocked him with his left hand. The thief went flying into one of the booths as the gun skidded across the floor. 

I stifled a scream as I looked up at Mr. Gloves, who turned to look at me. His tired eyes met mine, wide and terrified, but not of him. My throat constricted as I struggled to breathe, but I was petrified by fear. I wanted to say something, anything, but Mr. Gloves turned and ran, pulling the fire alarm and heading out the door in a matter of seconds.

The flashing lights slowed time down. They made my eyes and head throb with blinding pain, but the sound of the alarm was so much worse. Every few seconds the alarm screamed like a voice screeching and scratching against rusted iron, like the steel wheels of a train grinding to a breaking, panicked halt. It resonated against my eardrums causing deafening feedback, and my vision started to go hazy as the flashes radiated in and out of my line of vision. My hand clawed against the counter as my knees buckled and my legs gave way as I fell down onto my butt. I shut my eyes and tried to scream, but an abstract force kept my throat constrained. Tears started falling down my cheeks, but I couldn’t feel them with the heat radiating from my cheeks. I rocked myself back and forth, panting and gasping for air while covering my mouth, trying to contain the internal terror. 

_You’re okay, you’re okay, you’re okay,_ The voice in my head said, but I didn’t believe it. 

“ _Am I?”_ I shouted back at my voice, wrestling with my own internal dialogue. 

_Yes. You lived._

I lived. 

Sweet oxygen rushed into my body as the force over my throat lifted, though quickly stopped again as I started sobbing on the tiled floor of the diner. I pushed away my glasses and rubbed my dewy eyes, soothing myself as tears and cries flooded my existence. 

Thankfully, the police station was directly across the street, so men in khaki uniforms came running over to see what the commotion was. I didn’t quite remember everything that happened once they arrived, as officers flooded the scene, but did my best to explain the confusion 

“Who knocked out the thief?” One officer asked. 

“I don’t, I don’t know.” was all I managed, my senses still dull from everything that had happened. Time started to advance normally again, though I barely acknowledged the people moving around me. I found myself focusing on two details from the evening. 

The first was the bizarre inner monologue I had with myself, forcing myself to recognize that I’d once again lived through terror to come out alive on the other side. Perhaps the universe was trying to tell me something. 

The other detail seemed much more interesting and consumed my thoughts. 

_He shouldn’t have flown that far from a punch…_

A thousand questions, officers, and ambulances later I was alone in the restaurant again. I tossed the leftover dishes in the sink and turned out the lights before ripping my apron off and flinging it into the pile of dirty towels in the back of the restaurant. I grabbed my windbreaker and made my way out back. 

The back door of the diner was a heavy metal thing, and once it was locked tight, I headed for the sidewalk. My shoes crunched against the gravel lot as a figure miraculously appeared out of the shadows.. 

“Are you alright?” 

I stumbled backward and would have fallen if Mr. Gloves hadn’t grabbed my waist. He pulled me in close, which was kind of unexpected. We locked eyes for a moment, and he quickly let me go. 

He cleared his throat, “Sorry to startle you.” 

“No, no. It’s alright.” I said quietly, pushing a piece of hair behind my ear and crossing my arms across my chest, trying to placate my rapidly beating heart. We stood silently for a moment, just listening to the quiet evening breeze. For everything that had just happened, the night air was incredibly calming. I shifted my stance and traced a circle in the gravel with my shoe, “Thank you.” I said sheepishly, finding some buried courage. 

He seemed surprised, “You’re welcome.” We stood in silence once more “I, uh, never paid for-”

“Are you kidding?” I cut him off, “You saved my life. You can have all the coffee, pie, and food you want.” 

He laughed, “Right place at the right time, I guess.” 

I smiled remembering our first simple interaction. He had a certain kindness about him, and I was eerily infatuated with him. To be totally transparent, I didn’t want to be alone. I was generally okay with being by myself, but after all that, I wasn’t ready to face my thoughts just yet. 

“You know, the diner’s closed for the night, but my apartment’s right next door if you want a cup of coffee.” 

He smiled again, showing the wrinkles around his eyes. “That’s very kind of you, but I’m,” He hesitated, “good.” 

He was studying the gravel of the parking lot. 

“A drink then.” I insisted. Before he could answer, I brushed past him, heading towards the sidewalk, “Come on. I’m a connoisseur of excellent cheap whiskey.” 

That must have intrigued him, as he followed me across the street.

My apartment building had eight units and was on the corner of Cherry Street and Elm Avenue. I lived and worked in the downtown area of Oakville, where every street was named after some kind of tree. Well, all but one. Instead of having an “oak” street, we had Acorn Street, which was the main road that led from the Northern end of downtown into the bigger shopping center. 

Regardless, Gloves and I crossed to the other side of Cherry Street to reach my apartment building. 

It was an incredibly simple building, but it was home. The outside of the red brick building looked worn but was sturdy. The landlord was easily the kindest and sweetest woman you’d ever meet. Her name was Diana, but everyone called her Di. She had a parrot named Sweetie who would only quote Shakespeare and Sting. Last weekend, Di and I planted begonias and black-eyed susans all around the building for the middle of spring. Ever since she’d learn about my love of gardening and nature, she went out of her way to find little projects for me. Di lived alone across town in a big house with an even bigger yard filled with every kind of flower and shrub the local greenhouse sold, but you’d always see her walk past the building on her daily bout around town with Sweetie. But I wouldn’t see her tomorrow, as I had glorious plans of sleeping in late. 

“Here we are,” I announced, approaching the set of green doors, of which only the right one worked. I turned the various keys over in my hand, finding the one that had brass finishing rubbed off the wide part. I stuck the key in the lock and simultaneously turned and pushed the door open with my shoulder. 

The hallway smelled strongly of artificial lemon cleaner, which was most likely coming from Mo’s apartment no. 1 on the left side of the hallway. I pushed the door closed as Mr. Gloves filed in. 

“Welcome home,” I mumbled. 

“Nice,” he murmured back politely. There were two sets of stairs on either side of the building, and I instinctively took the right side. I led us up the stairs, counting each step in my head. 

_Twelve, thirteen, fourteen._ The stairs and carpet in the building were dark green with giant sickly yellow poinsettia flowers. 

“Sweetie picked the carpet,” Di told me, “Reminded him of crackers.” 

“Walk in fields of gold,” Sweetie affirmed. 

We continued down to the very end of the hallway until I stopped at my own door. It was a relaxed dark blue, which was the same color as the front door of my parent’s old house. The color still surprised me every time, though I had painted it four months prior. The silver number 8 glistened in the moonlight that had snuck in through the window at the end of the hallway. I turned over the new silver key in my hand and slid it into the lock. I then did the same for the other two locks I had put on the door. Thinking about it now, someone of Mr. Gloves’ stature could probably easily break the door down, even with the locks, but it was really just for my own peace of mind. Finally, I pushed the door open, with my stranger friend still trailing behind me. One of the lights over the island was turned on, just as I had left it.

“Make yourself comfortable,” I said, checking the three locks, pulling the chain, and turning the deadbolt. I turned to see Mr. Gloves gazing about my home. 

Just about everything in the living room was secondhand. The incredibly comfortable tan leather couch was from my parent’s house, the coffee and tv tables I got from a flea market, and, easily my favorite piece in the apartment, the bookshelf came from the previous tenant. Zane, one of the coolest and smoothest guys I had ever met, left Oakville to explore the world. He graciously left behind the giant bookcase, some matching bar stools, a strong scent of weed, and a peace lily that I kept in its original place next to the window on the built-in desk area next to the kitchen. I only met him once, when he was moving out, but told me I had cool artwork. It was a strange collection of a print from my parent’s house, a gift from a college roommate, one of my father’s originals, some flea-market finds, and a few other things I had gathered over the years. 

“So what’s it gonna be?” I asked, dumping my keys on the table next to the door and pulling off my jacket, “Coffee or whiskey?” 

“Coffee sounds perfect,” He responded, moving towards my bookcase. 

I headed to the kitchen and filled the kettle with water. I pulled two faded green mugs from the cabinet and set them next to the french press. 

“I’ll be right back,” I said, moving hurriedly towards my bedroom. Gloves didn’t respond but was still studying my collection of books. I pushed open the two french doors and pulled off my button-up shirt without unbuttoning a single one. I repositioned and chucked it into my overflowing hamper of dirty clothes, most of which were button-up shirts and dress pants.

 _Damn, I need to do some laundry,_ I thought to myself. I grabbed my favorite gray college sweatshirt which was lying crumpled on the floor and a pair of fuzzy purple socks from the dresser. I thought about slipping on my moccasins which were underneath my nightstand but decided socks would be best. 

_Am I usually this messy?_ I questioned myself looking around the room. It was fairly tidy. There was an empty glass sitting on one of the nightstands and some of the dresser drawers were off-kilter, but nothing major. I brushed away the self-consciousness as I slid off my shoes and kicked them into the closet. 

_See you on Monday_ , I said to my uncomfortable shoes. I slid off my work pants and chucked them towards the hamper as well. I fished out a pair of black mesh gym shorts from my closet and pulled them on just as the kettle started to whistle. I dashed back out into the kitchen, still putting my socks on, and used a potholder to pour the water onto the coffee grounds in the french press. I laid the press and pot on the wooden-topped island and the two mugs on either side. Gloves was still perusing my bookshelf, gently leafing through something. It was mesmerizing to see someone of such substantial size handling something like it was a fragile piece of glass artwork. I pulled around one of the stools so we could both face each other. 

_Oh my god…_ It suddenly occurred to me, _I don’t know his name. I don’t know his God. Damn. Name._ I sat down on the stool, waiting for the coffee to finish brewing. As catchy as the nickname ‘Mr. Gloves’ was, I considered some other names in my head. 

_Sebastian, Chris, Mark, Anthony… Jeremy?_ How embarrassing. _I’ve served the guy eight meals and didn’t even think once to ask him his name._ I had also speculated as to why he always, _always_ wore gloves. 

_Skin condition. Right? What else would it be? Maybe it’s another kind of medical ailment, or he’s lost a finger or two. Or maybe he’s like that guy from American Horror Story? But those were mittens…_

I continued to sit in silence with my elbows on the counter, moving my mother’s ring back and forth across my finger as I considered all the mysteries this man brought with him. 

Once the skin started turning red on my ring finger, I decided it would be best to pour the coffee. When he heard me pouring coffee, Gloves carefully re-shelved the book and meandered over to the island. 

He sighed as he sat down at the barstool across from me and removed his dark hat and laid his jacket on the stool next to him. He ran a gloved hand through his middle-parted dark brown hair. For the first time, I could better see his light blue eyes under the single light over the island. 

“You have a nice collection there,” He extolled, pulling the mug closer to him. 

I took a sip of my steaming drink, “Thanks,” I murmured, “My father was a real appreciator of literature.” I winced at my use of past tense, but quickly put the thought away.

He gave me a small warm smile as he lifted the mug to his lips. 

I traced my middle finger around the lip of my mug, trying to word how I would ask the guy what his name was. The light brown polish I had on my fingernails was fading and cracked along the tips of my nails. I propped my head on my arm and stared into the dark coffee. I could feel Gloves watching me. 

“I never got your name,” I voiced casually, keeping my eyes down. 

His eyes fell down to his mug and he folded his hands in front, showing only the worn leather of his gloves, “What’s in a name?” He chortled. 

“Not much,” I acknowledged, “But I need something to call you.” 

Gloves rubbed his bottom lip with his thumb, “What kinda person invites a guy whose name she doesn’t even know into her home?” 

I was suspicious at this point, “The kind who wants to thank him for saving her life.” 

He chuckled, “Can’t argue with that.” I was about to prod him again, but he continued, “What’s yours?” 

I raised an eyebrow with a smile, “What, you didn’t see it embroidered in big red letters on my apron?” 

“No, Elle. I didn’t,” He said teasingly. I rolled my eyes into a grin. “How long have you been working at the diner?” 

I noticed he still hadn’t told me his name, but I let it slide for the time being. I leaned back and crossed my legs. I laced my fingers around the mug through the handle. 

“Too long,” I admitted, “I started there…” I faltered, remembering walking into the restaurant with one of the ‘HELP WANTED’ flyers in my hand, “Just about five years ago”. 

Gloves sipped some more of his coffee, “So a college degree gets you five years at a diner?” 

I smirked. Normally I would have thrown back some angry retort, but I decided to be patient. “I never said I had a college degree, Buster. Ooh, is your name Buster?” 

He raised an eyebrow at me, “Good guess, but no,” We both took another sip of coffee, “I’m sorry, with your New York State sweatshirt I just assumed you had…” He trailed off. 

I brushed a piece of hair behind my ear, “Well, I have about eighty percent of a college degree, maybe ninety,” I looked up at him for a moment, then studied the tan floor tiles, “I dropped out during my senior year.” 

Gloves furrowed his brow, “Why?” 

I gripped my mug tighter. “It’s complicated,” I said in a hushed tone. 

He smirked, “Well, complicated is my _middle_ name.” 

I smiled and shook my head as he _laughed_. It was at his own joke nonetheless, but it was surprising at how hearty and genuine it was. 

We sat in silence a moment listening to the quiet hum of the refrigerator.

“You know,” he started slowly, “Complicated is ok.” 

I rubbed my mother’s ring against my skin “I got a phone call in the middle of November during my senior year,” I was about to continue when I knew I needed something, “Hold on.”

I got up from my stool and pulled out two glasses from the cabinet. Next, I grabbed a bottle from my small collection. 

“The excellent cheap whiskey you promised?” 

I pointed a finger at him, “Hey, I never joke about my whiskey.” He chuckled softly at me. 

I set the two glasses on the wooden countertop and poured some for each of us. I left the bottle on the table, assuming I’d be back for seconds. I raised my glass, and he followed suit. The bitter, biting drink flowed down the back of my throat. Gloves hesitated a moment but quickly did the same. 

“Damn,” he whistled, “That’s good stuff.” 

“Excellent, but cheap.” I bragged. 

He set his glass back down, “So you’re a whiskey girl? Fan! I meant fan…” 

I raised an eyebrow at him but simply shrugged, “It takes the edge off.” He hummed. 

“So you got a phone call in the middle of November?” 

I rubbed my chin pensively. I had only recounted the story to a few other people, but I still wasn’t used to, or really comfortable talking about it, yet here I was telling it to an almost stranger.

“Yeah,” I started, “I was working late in the library when my mom called. And she,” I faltered for a moment, “She was diagnosed with stage three myeloma, a cancer of the blood. She said she was in the hospital and just wanted to hear my voice.” 

I paused and took a sip of whiskey, “I drove back home that night. I spent the next six days in her hospital room until she was gone.” I rubbed the ring back and forth on my hand. 

“I’m so sorry,” Gloves breathed. 

“I dropped out of school and never went back. I went to a dark place after that. I shut myself away for months until I had to get a job. So one rainy day I marched myself down to the diner, nailed the interview and I’ve been there ever since.” 

“You know I worked in a diner too, once.” 

I looked up at him, surprised at the spontaneous confession on his part.

He grinned, “It was only for like a day, but technically…”

“Oh my god,” I smiled, shaking my head. “So where are you from?” I asked quickly, trying to keep him talking. 

He looked down at his drink, half-smiling like he remembered something, “Brooklyn.” 

_Brooklyn. I’ve finally got something,_ I thought to myself. 

“Huh. How’d a Brooklyn Boy™ find his way to little old Oakville?” I nudged, leaning my head on my elbow, looking at him inquisitively. 

He looked up at me. “I needed some work,” He said plainly. 

“Work doing…” I urged him on. 

“Construction.” He took a sip of whiskey, “I have a contract working on the new city hall.” 

_Well, that’s boring. “_ Why come six hours away for a construction job?” I inquired. 

He shrugged, “New experience?” 

_He’s lying._ “Hmm.” I returned plainly. 

“Do you mind if I use your bathroom?” He asked, starting to get up from the stool. 

I nodded and pointed, “The door over there.” 

“Thanks.” 

He left me alone with my thoughts. 

_Ok, an attractive guy from Brooklyn takes a construction job in a nothing town six hours away. He doesn’t have a name and wears gloves constantly._

“What in the hell,” I murmured to myself. I unwisely downed the rest of my whiskey and poured another glass. I think not knowing his name bothered me the most. So naturally, I made a plan. 

He eventually returned and sat back down. 

“Ok,” I said playfully, leaning in, “Lightning round.” 

“Hit me.” 

“Favorite color?” 

“Blue,” He responded quickly, “What’s yours?” 

“Green. Dogs or cats?”

“Oh, both. You?”

“Dogs, but I don’t mind cats. Favorite food?” 

“Pie.” He chortled, and I giggled too, “What’s yours?”

I shook my head, “Soup for sure.”

“Soup?!” He roared, “ _Soup_ is your favorite food?”

“It’s the perfect food!”

“Fine, fine. Favorite book?”

“The Little Prince. What’s your name?”  
“Bucky. What’s…” He suddenly looked as though he had tasted something sour, then instantly started laughing. 

_There’s that laugh again…_

“You’re good.” 

I shrugged and flipped my ponytail for effect, “I know.” 

His smile eased, “James Buchanan Barnes,” he said almost painfully, “Named for the fifteenth president.” He shook his head, “It’s strange.” 

I drummed my fingers on the table, “I’ve heard stranger.” 

Bucky was still smiling, “I suppose. All the guys at the construction site call me Jim.” 

I lifted an eyebrow. 

“It’s easier.” He replied, “Fewer questions, fewer comments.” 

It seemed odd, but I let it slide. I was the same with questions; the fewer the better.

“So,” He leaned in again, “What’s your story?” 

I was a little caught off guard, “What do you mean?” 

Bucky took a sip of whiskey and licked his lips. _Damn._ I caught myself staring and went for a drink to distract myself.

“I don’t know.” He frowned, “I just wanna know what makes you, you.” 

Again, I was a little taken aback. “Why?” 

He looked down, “Because… you’re so positive and optimistic. And kind to literally everyone,” Bucky looked up to meet my eyes, “And I like the sound of your voice.” He admitted. 

I scratched the back of my head. I really didn’t know what to say. It was one of the best compliments I had ever gotten from someone, including my ex who I dated for more than two years. 

I brushed off the admiration for a moment and tried to think objectively, “Well, I don’t really know. I try to look at everything from a zoomed out angle for one thing. Sure, I miss my parents every day, and it makes me sad to think about them, but there are other things I have to live for.”

“Like?” 

I thought for a moment, “For sunrises, and for flowers. For great literature and incredible music. For learning something new every day and to make other people smile. To maybe make the world a better place.”

“Damn,” He whispered.

I thought about my father for a moment. I wanted to find out what happened to him so badly. But I resisted the urge to spill about what really drove me.

I decided to continue, “But most importantly,”

Bucky seemed to lean in, “For excellent cheap whiskey.” He snickered at me as I downed the rest of my second glass. I was definitely drinking too fast, but I wasn’t paying attention to my body at the time.

He propped himself up on his elbow and stared at me. 

“So,” I started, pouring myself a third drink, “What’s _your_ story?” 

Bucky held my gaze for a moment but suddenly looked away. It seemed as if he wanted to tell me, but also desired to keep things locked away. 

He knitted his brows, and spoke hesitantly choosing every word with care and caution, “I grew up in Brooklyn. I worked some odd jobs here and there,” His jaw clenched, “I joined the army, left, and now I’m here.” He downed the rest of his drink.

 _Army…_ That made sense to me. His tired and sad eyes suddenly made things much more clear.

“So,” He poured himself another glass of excellent cheap whiskey, “Little Prince, huh?”

A wide smile spread across my lips, “Absolutely.” 

He shook his head while he took a sip of the burning bronze liquid, “I’ve never read it.”

“It’s technically a children’s book,” My fingers went straight to my mom’s ring, “But it’s definitely a great book for everyone.” 

Bucky stared down at his alcohol. He questioned me in a smooth, husky voice, “When was it published?” 

I was startled by his sudden voice change, “Nineteen forty-three,'' I responded quietly, taking off my glasses and folding them next to me. 

He looked up at me with a rather genuine smile, “Nice. I’ll have to check it out.” 

“What’s your favorite book?” I questioned, repositioning my legs under the counter. 

He looked pensive for a while, like a student caught off guard in a classroom, trying to come up with some kind of answer. Eventually, he decided, “I always enjoyed Gulliver’s Travels as a kid. The Lilliputs always made me smile.” Bucky smiled to himself, “I always dreamed of having my own _Adventure_.”

I felt dazed by his answer. _Dad would have liked him_ , was the only thing I could think of. 

“That’s a good one,” I said, trying not to show my internal emotions. Gulliver’s Travels was my dad’s favorite book and the last thing we read together before he disappeared. I kept the index card marked on the page where we stopped, hoping that he might come back home and finish reading the tale to me in his many captivating characters and voices one day.

“I can’t get over how good this whiskey is,” Bucky said, taking another small sip

I yawned in response, leaning more on the counter for support. I suddenly realized how tired I was, especially with the whiskey on top of it. 

“Tired?” He asked, a smile spreading across his lips. 

I blinked slowly, taking a deep breath, “It’s been a long day.” I smiled back at him. 

“Maybe you should get some rest,” Bucky murmured in a rather alluring voice. 

I felt my knees weaken at his calming yet enticing voice. 

“Don’t be silly,” I faltered, pushing the same piece of hair behind my ear, “I want to stay up with you.” 

Bucky raised an eyebrow at me but didn’t say anything. 

I downed the rest of my whiskey, slightly regretting my last response. But part of me couldn’t help it. There was something simply captivating about Bucky. I was probably lonely, or maybe I was just sad. I had isolated myself after my mom died five years ago and again when I broke up with Jesse almost four months ago. I shivered suddenly, remembering the chilling and horrible memories of our break up. Unfortunately, Bucky noticed my slight quaver.

“Are you alright? Cold?” 

“I’m fine!” I interrupted, a smile spreading across my lips. It was sweet to see him worried about me, as there hadn’t been someone to do that in a while.

“Are you sure?” He challenged again, leaning closer over the island, and looked into my face. I looked up into his silver-blue eyes. 

I was completely and utterly over Jesse, but even just thinking about him made me shudder. I was still scared of him and what he might do, hence the unnecessary extra locks on my door.

“Yes!” I asserted. To make my point, I tried to stand up to wash our coffee mugs, but I managed to make it much worse by tripping over the step on the stool and slipping on my sock. 

I was about to land on the ground with a graceful “oof”, but instead, I fell straight into Bucky’s arms. He mostly caught me with his powerful chest but also wrapped his arms around me for good measure. 

“I think it’s time for bed,” He breathed into my ear. I shivered for the second time within minutes but for a completely different reason this time. Bucky took my small movement as a response and managed to scoop me up into his arms with a simple and swift motion. I was utterly surprised, yet captivated. I was certainly happy to be in a man’s arms again but was hoping for different circumstances. 

He carried me bridal style through the french doors and into my bedroom. Gently, he laid me down on my bed on top of my light blue sheets. I relaxed as the familiar softness touched my skin. The fluffy comforter soon brushed my shoulders, and I stretched my legs and neck, positioning myself against my pillow. I heard Bucky quietly walk away, nearly tiptoeing in his heavy boots. I assumed he was gone, so my eyelids fluttered closed. I yawned again, settling in for a deep sleep after a long day. His footsteps sounded again as if he were returning.

“You can stay on the couch if you want,” I groaned with my eyes closed, “You saved my life, so breakfast is the least I could offer you.” 

I might have imagined it, but I thought I felt something brush my forehead that felt strangely like soft lips. I might also have imagined someone saying “Goodnight Princess”, but I was pretty tired, so there was no way.

_(Right?)_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading!
> 
> Adventure is the name of the ship in Gulliver's Travels :)


	3. Chapter 3

Saturday, May 3

I woke up to the crack of thunder. 

_ No way,  _ I thought, jumping up out of bed and running to the window. I pushed back the silky curtains to reveal a dark gray morning. I smiled and bit my lip. Rainy days were the best, simply for the excuse to stay inside all day and leave the windows open to listen to the rain. They were also great because the day after a big rainstorm, you could always see the flowers and trees perk up. I left my window and turned to the alarm clock which read 9:08. 

_ It feels like I’ve been asleep forever.  _ I walked back over to my nightstand and slid on my moccasins. I then noticed my glasses were sitting on the table. The memories of the previous day came flooding back. Work. Mr. Gloves. Robbery. Coffee. Whiskey.  _ Bucky.  _

_ Did he really kiss my forehead last night, and call me princess? _

“ _No._ _No way.”_

I picked up my glasses and put them on my face. I rubbed my forehead as I pondered the events of the previous evening. I pulled open the French doors, which I also don’t remember being closed. 

I gasped as my stomach dropped to my toes. 

Standing in my kitchen holding a cup of coffee in a faded green mug was Bucky. He was still in his dark red long-sleeve t-shirt and dark jeans, but he had lost his boots which were now sitting next to the couch along with his hat and jacket. 

He turned his head when he heard me enter the living space of my own apartment.

“Morning,” He said with a bristly voice. He lifted the mug to his lips to take a sip of coffee. 

A mix of emotions came over me, mostly positive. I mean, I was certainly happy to see him for one thing, just surprised he’d taken my lethargic offer. I figured he would have left in the night to head back to his motel, but there he was in my kitchen with a fresh pot of coffee. 

“Morning.” I managed, trying not to sound too surprised. 

“Sleep well?” He asked through another sip of coffee. 

I walked closer, raising an eyebrow, “Yeah, how about yourself?” 

Bucky looked down at his dark socks with red cheeks, “You have a very comfortable couch,” he murmured. 

I said nothing, hoping he would continue as I poured myself a cup of coffee. 

“I felt bad leaving after what happened at the restaurant, and you seemed a little out of it last night.” My cheeks started to burn as he continued, “And I just wanted to make sure you were alright - safe.” I took a sip of hot coffee as he proceeded in a hushed voice, “Not that the locks on your door wouldn’t have kept you safe,” 

I choked on my coffee, “Oh, thank you. You can never be too careful in this town,” I stumbled with my words, “Someone  _ did _ try to rob the diner last night.” 

Bucky shot me a look, clearly not buying my story. I walked over to the large window in between the kitchen and desk area. There were raindrops all over the outside glass, and puddles were already filling the potholes on the street below. 

“You know,” He started, moving closer to where I was standing, “The construction guys said there was almost no crime in town. Usually, everyone leaves their cars and doors unlocked,” He inched closer still, “And there’s no reason to fear anyone.” 

I took a big gulp of coffee, scalding the back of my throat, “Like I said, never too careful-”

“Are you in danger?” 

“What?” I turned to look at him. He had left his coffee cup on the counter and was holding his crossed arms in front of him. Bucky’s eyes were full of concern as they bored into my soul.

I took a step towards him, “Of course not, there’s just,” I trailed off as my mind started to wander. 

“Just what?” He interrupted. 

I sighed, staring out the window again. Bucky moved closer, still itching to know why I had four extra locks on my door. 

I turned back to him with a forced smile, “Just nothing.” 

He looked a bit startled at my response and dropped his arms. I brushed past him and set my coffee cup down on the counter. It was clear though, that he wasn’t quite ready to let it go.

“Scrambled eggs okay? That’s what you usually order at the diner.” I set the carton of eggs down on the counter and pulled a frying pan from beneath the oven. 

Bucky looked incredulous, “Is there someone after you? A scary neighbor or something?” 

I sighed rather loudly. 

“An assassin?” He asked, exasperated. 

“What? No!” I paused, putting both my hands on the counter for support, “Look,” I hesitated, but kept going, “When my ex and I ended things...” I opened the egg carton, trying to busy my hands, “He kinda broke my door down,” I breathed. 

“Wha-at?!” Bucky looked enraged. 

“It was an old door anyways,” I insisted, “Besides, I got to paint it that nice blue color.” 

Bucky crossed his arms, almost in an attempt to make himself look threatening, “Is he still around?” 

I cracked four eggs into a bowl and started to whisk the yolks and whites together, forcing my voice to sound as casual as possible, “Nah he left town.” 

Bucky softened his stance.

“But,” I turned and smiled, “You can never be too careful.” 

He exhaled, relaxing knowing that I wasn’t in any preeminent danger. 

I continued to cook our breakfast, forcing away thoughts of the past as Bucky laid out two place settings. He was so domestic and gentle with the napkins and silverware that I nearly forgot about how he took down the robber the night before with a single punch. 

_ He must be ridiculously strong,  _ I thought to myself, carefully swirling the eggs in the pan with a red spatula,  _ I mean, what kind of punch can do that?  _

I snuck a peek at him over my shoulder. He was still wearing those dark leather gloves as he folded napkins and placed them under the forks. 

_ What a contradiction,  _ I considered. A real gentle giant. 

The toaster popped with the last of the cinnamon raisin bread just as I portioned out the scrambled eggs. I quickly spread some butter on the toast and cut up some strawberries, smiling down at the two plates. It had been a long time since I had made breakfast for two. 

I turned back to the island where Bucky had arranged two place settings with the french press in the middle. He was slumped over onto the counter and twiddling his thumbs. He perked up when he saw I was walking back over. 

“Wow,” He commented, eyeing breakfast. 

I smiled back, setting down the two plates. 

We ate in silence for a few moments. I don’t think either of us really knew what to say. 

“You know, I think you’re a better chef than whoever works at the diner.” 

I laughed into my eggs. “Better than Ronnie and his world-famous powdered wonders?” 

He chuckled, “So any big weekend plans?” 

“Hmm,” I pondered over my piping hot coffee, “I was thinking about marathoning the Star Wars movies. I haven’t seen them in a while.” Truth was, my ex Jesse didn’t like them so I hadn’t seen them since we started dating. I was way overdue. 

Bucky studied his toast, “Never seen them.” 

I stopped short of my last bite of eggs, “What now?” 

He smiled, “I’ve never seen them. Heard lots about them and that-”

“Well,  _ our  _ weekend plans are settled.” 

Bucky met my eyes and a sly smile, “Wha-”

“Buckle your seatbelt, my friend, we have an entire galaxy to explore.” I finished my last bite of eggs as I studied his face. 

He was beaming for a moment, then the glow suddenly dissipated. He turned away, “I think I’ve already overstayed my welcome.” 

I aggressively set my fork down, “Bucky, I owe you my life,” I waited until he finally met my eyes, “You’re welcome as long as you like.” 

A small smile spread across his lips. 

“I’ll tell you what, why don’t we meet back here in an hour? I have to run an errand and you can get a fresh change of clothes.” 

His smile spread even wider, “Deal.” 

We quickly finished the rest of our breakfasts and Bucky eventually pulled on his hat and boots after I shooed him out of the apartment after trying to wash the dishes. 

From the moment he left I ran around like a madwoman. I scrubbed the dishes as fast as I could and chucked them in the drying rack then tripped over my own feet running to the bathroom for the fastest shower I would ever take. After pulling on some leggings, another sweatshirt, and my favorite converse, I locked the door behind me. I wound my damp hair up into a functional messy bun into my baseball cap while rushing down the hallway. Naturally, things couldn’t be easy, as I slipped on the very first step. My arms flung out and I clung to the rickety banister, my knuckles tensing and turning white. For a moment I couldn’t breathe as my throat constricted, horrifying memories flooding behind my eyes. 

“No,” I said out loud, forcing all the images back down, “No.” 

_ God, I hate these steps. _

The banister creaked as I pulled myself back up and carefully crept down the steps, only increasing my pace once I was back on a flat surface. Walking up the street to the local market under an umbrella was rather comforting. I rolled my shoulders back, feeling the warm fleece against my skin as my father’s laugh sounded in my ears,  _ “Oh, it seems that Accident-Prone Ellie decided to make an appearance today.”  _ My parents were the only ones ever allowed to call me by the nickname and had also assured me that I would grow out of gangly ineptitude after childhood, but I haven’t warranted that kind of luck. Instead, I was twenty-six with two dead parents and two left feet. 

Still, my two left feet managed to carry me up to the store entrance, and it was only when I walked into the market when I realized I didn’t have my glasses. 

_ Fucking hell, Elle, you’re killing it this morning, _ crossed my mind and I gritted my teeth as I reached for a cart. I could barely read the aisle numbers amongst the other blurred colors and shapes. My eyesight wasn’t  _ that  _ bad, but I moved quickly. I really didn’t want to deal with a migraine during our movie marathon.

Some butter, milk, coffee grounds, popcorn kernels, and a few more groceries later, I started back for my apartment, still unhappily squinting. I considered going to the spirits store next door to stock up on fancy wine or my favorite whiskey, but I considered against it. 

I wanted to remember tonight. 

I was struggling under the weight of the groceries in my one hand, but managed to push back the sleeve of my sweatshirt with the hand I was using to hold my umbrella. My watch read 10:16. There was still plenty of time. As I lifted my sight from the sidewalk, a budding cherry tree caught my eye and a smile began blooming on my lips. The petals of each flower were still wrapped in bundles, waiting to be invited out by sunshine and warmer weather. It was the beginning of May now, so they’d be gracing us with their elegant ruffles and sweet scent by week’s end. The trees always reminded me of an elegant dance performance; hundreds of ballet dancers in pink chiffon tutus swaying and moving in perfect time with the smooth sounds of spring winds.

My eyes darted from the tree as I rounded the corner to my apartment building, noticing someone standing outside the front door. 

_ Damn, he’s quick.  _ My lips involuntarily curled upwards.

Bucky was leaning against the brick railing of the building, holding his gloved hands together. He was dressed in simple dark sweatpants and a charcoal crew sweatshirt, the hood up over his head. The rain had slowed a little bit, but he still had drops of water covering his shirt. 

“Hey, stranger!” I called up to him. 

Bucky looked up and smiled. He boosted himself off the wall and promptly put his hands into his pockets. I hopped up the steps quickly, still aware that I could slip again. But, the realization that there was absolutely no way I could get to the keys in my bag with everything in my hands was suddenly more pressing.

“Let me take something for you,” He held out his strong arms as I gingerly handed him half of the plastic bags of groceries. I took note that his arms didn’t even budge under the weight of the various products. 

_ Who is this guy, Superman? _

“Thanks,” I breathed, fishing the keys from my pocket. I had to do the same dance of simultaneously turning the key and pushing the door open with my shoulder, but this time while balancing an umbrella. I stepped onto the mat inside and held the door open for Bucky.

“Come on,” I smiled warmly through the rainy breeze, “Let’s have some fun.” 

We watched the movies starting with episode four, and unsurprisingly he absolutely adored them. He asked a thousand questions ranging from the plotline to the actors and actresses to the numbering planets. We also went through a ton of buttered popcorn, and his reaction to Vader in episode five was absolutely priceless, though I thought it was odd he had never heard the “I am your father” reference. It was one of the most fun days I had had in months, and it was nice to spend time with another person again, even if it was just watching my favorite movies and casually chatting during a thunderstorm. 

It also didn’t hurt that he was easy on the eyes.

I got up during the credits of Attack of the Clones to do some dishes while Bucky headed to the bathroom. I smiled quietly to myself as I scrubbed the pot I had used to cook the kernels. It was strange how comfortable I felt around him, especially after the little time we had spent together. It had taken my years to be comfortable around my ex. I had known Jesse throughout high school and college, but we didn’t even date until a few years out of college; not that Bucky and I were dating, or going to be dating, or anything. Still, things were different with Bucky. 

I trusted him, but it was beyond him just saving me from the robber. It was his demeanor and kindness that really drew me to him. 

_ But I still know almost nothing about him. _ I blew a piece of my bangs out my face and continued working on the pot. 

_ But what the hell’s with the gloves!? _ The question bubbled over in my brain, but I knew it would never reach my lips. The last thing I wanted was to make him feel uncomfortable in any way.

“Can I lend a hand?” The sound of his voice from across the counter made me jump, “Oh sorry, I didn’t mean to frighten you.” 

“You’re fine,” I babbled, reaching for a dishtowel. He stood silent, studying the tips of his worn leather fingers. 

“Thank you,” He started.

I placed the pot in the dishrack, “For what, cleaning a saucepan?” 

He chuckled gravely, “No,” Bucky walked around the counter as I pressed my back against the sink, “No, I just wanted to thank you for today, and for last night.” 

I glanced up at him. He was toying with his left glove and breathing heavily as I eyed his chest moving back and forth. I wanted to say anything, but it looked like he wasn’t quite done. 

“I’ve had some tough years and spending time with you has just been,” He paused, rubbing his left fingers together, “Magnificent.” His voice was breathy, and it almost seemed like he was drawing slowly closer. 

I looked down and started rubbing my mother’s ring and muttered, “Well, you know, we still need to watch Revenge of the Sith-” 

He silenced me with a kiss. I was again surprised by how gentle he was, but more how soft and warm his lips were. His contradicting scruffy beard teased my skin and drew me in. I closed my eyes, enjoying the unusual feeling of unsteadiness in my knees. Bucky’s warmth washed over me as he laid his gloved hands on my back and enveloped me in a delicate embrace. I melted into his stable chest, putting my arms around his neck, running my hands through the hair on the back of his head. I could feel his throbbing heartbeat through his neck, and the small sensation made the pit of my stomach feel empty, but my body completely whole at the same time. I deepened the kiss, pulling his head down into me, moving my excited lips over his own. I drove my body into him, pressing every inch of me I could into him.

But Bucky abruptly pulled away, keeping his forehead pressed to mine. Both of us were heaving, trying to catch our breaths after being connected for so long. I looked up, expecting to see his shiny blue eyes, but instead, his eyelids were closed tightly. 

“I’m so sorry,” he murmured tremulously. His lips brushed against mine as the sour words stuck in my throat. Bucky dropped his arms and practically ran to the door, slamming it behind him. I stood wavering in the kitchen, still trying to find my breath. The floor seemed to move beneath me, and I held onto the wooden counter for balance. My mind couldn’t form a coherent thought regarding what had just happened. I wanted to fume after him in the hallway, yelling at him for leaving so suddenly after what he had just done to me. The soft orchestral score of John Williams hovered low in the apartment, but I couldn’t move after my crush had just given me the best kiss I’d ever had and a sensation that excited me beyond anything I had ever experienced. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a note about the star wars movie- because this story takes place after Captain America: Winter Soldier in 2014, Star Wars Episodes 7-9 and Rogue One haven't been released yet, hence only the first five movies being included here. :) 
> 
> Thank you so much for reading!!!


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bucky reveals his secrets.

Friday, May 9

I didn’t see Bucky for almost a whole week after our movie marathon and interrupted make-out session. My eyes were keen on finding him somewhere in the diner, but every man in a dark jacket was just another fraud. I spent more time than usual at the diner that week, drawing out my shifts late into the evening, hoping he might come in for a cup of coffee and apple pie or some ‘okay’ powdered eggs, but by Friday night he still hadn’t shown. My modest anger had resided quickly after his retreat, for I just wanted to see his funny puzzling expression and hear his contagious, exuberant laughter once again. 

I leaned over the back counter and yawned audibly when Denise approached me gently.

“Why don’t you clock out a little early, dear,” She placed a gentle hand on my slumped shoulder, “You’ve locked up almost every night this week and you must be exhausted.” 

I hummed in agreement but didn’t move. 

Denise looked over at our chef, Ronnie, who just shrugged as he flipped an order of blueberry pancakes. 

She exhaled and leaned next to me, mimicking my horrible posture, “Where did your gloved friend get to?”

I jerked at the unfriendly reminder but said nothing. 

Denise angled herself towards me, raising an eyebrow, “Did he hurt you?” She questioned. 

“No!” I roared, jerking back from the counter, considering the goodbye I had with the last guy I had kissed. After Jesse and I broke up, I had suspiciously come into work with a broken arm and two fractured ribs. 

Denise gave me a look, suspecting something had happened between Gloves and me, but I just denied things. “He probably left town,” I admitted. I didn’t want it to be the truth, but it was probably fact.

She let her suspicious glare fall and softened, “You look like Hell.”

“Thanks,” I agreed sarcastically. 

Denise sighed, “You know what I mean. You look  _ tired. _ Go home. Get some rest.” 

Sleep sounded fantastic. It was still early, only 10:15, but the idea of my head hitting the pillow was overwhelming. 

“Yeah,” I considered, fidgeting with my mother’s ring, “Yeah, okay.” 

“Good. Get  _ out of here, _ ” She gently punched my arm with a smile. 

I returned her smile and hung up my apron for the week. My weight leaned into the heavy back door as I pushed into it and headed for home. It was humid for the late hour in May, but I still rubbed my arms when I stepped outside.

As I walked into my apartment, the Star Wars DVDs were still stacked in a pile next to the television caught my eye, the third episode just begging to be watched. I exhaled gloomily at the sight and threw my coat on the rack by the door after locking and checking each of the locks. My hair tumbled down onto my shoulders as I undid my ponytail and pushed open the french doors to my bedroom. I angrily chucked my pants and shirt in the direction of the hamper, missing horribly. A loud groan fell from my lips as I launched onto my unmade bed, still in my comfortable lacy black bra, face first. I rolled onto my side and stared at the stack of books on the nightstand closest to the window. There was a poetry book by Walt Whitman, my favorite chemistry novel,  _ Napoleon’s Buttons _ ,  _ Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban _ , and naturally,  _ Gulliver’s Travels.  _ Clearly, I’d been trying pretty much all of my favorite genres to try and take my mind away from my new gloved friend.

_ A little poetry never hurt anyone. _ I arose from my bed and dressed in my favorite long sleeve purple t-shirt and black pajama shorts. My hair was unusually manageable, so I brushed it out and left it long. I pulled out the Whitman book and carried it with me to the kitchen. It sat under the light over the island while I filled the kettle for a cup of tea. I leaned over the smooth oak of the island and rubbed my eyes as I listened to the slow growl of the flame rising to heat the water. I noticed the stool that I had pulled around to face my guest was still on the wrong side of the counter. The teabags were kept in a little basket on the counter next to the french press. I selected a calming chamomile and laid the bag in a navy blue mug covered in small, silver dotted constellations. The kettle stopped whistling as soon as I picked it up from the stovetop and poured the boiling water onto the teabag. I was about to carry my mug and book back to my bed to continue my horribly boring and mundane evening when I heard three loud knocks on my door. 

_ KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK  _

I jumped back from the counter, my heart pounding against my ribcage. The only person who ever visited me was my landlady, Di, but she would always send a hilariously grammatically correct text first. I folded my arms across my chest, hugging myself, hoping that whoever was at the door would just leave. 

_ KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK,  _ “Elle?”

I ducked down behind the island and curled into a fetal position, shutting my eyes tightly as my mind raced,  _ “No no no no no no no, go away, go away, go away.” _

“It’s Buster Complicated Barnes. Denise said you’d be here.” 

I exhaled, letting my head fall onto my knees. My hands gripped the counter as I pulled myself up and headed for the door. My heart was still beating faster than normal, but now I wasn’t sure if it was from the unjust paranoia or excitement about seeing Bucky again. I hesitantly undid each of the locks and listened as I heard shifting outside the door. The door creaked open slowly to reveal a tentative Bucky in his usual, nondescript get up. His hat was tipped lower than usual, and instead of his heavy black jacket, he wore a light gray hoodie over a white shirt underneath. The dark jeans and heavy boots were a familiar sight. 

“Hi,” He managed softly. 

“Hello,” I replied, still hiding behind the door. 

He hunched his shoulders forward, keeping his hands in his pockets to make himself look smaller, “I uh, tried you at the diner but Denise said you went home early.” 

I pushed a lock of hair behind my ear, “Yeah, I was feeling kinda tired.” 

“Oh,” He rubbed the back of his head and swallowed, “Well I don’t want to bother you if you’re headed to-”

“I don’t mind.” I pulled the door open, allowing him to step inside. After redoing the locks, I headed past him back into the kitchen. 

“So, coffee or whiskey?” 

He let out an uneasy sigh, “I need to be sober for this conversation.”

I pretended I didn’t hear him, “What was that?”

“Ah, coffee’s fine,” He said louder, sliding onto the same stool he sat on before. 

I poured some water that was still near boiling over coffee grounds in the french press and placed it between us. After getting a mug with a striped blue design for Bucky, I finally sat down across from him. 

“Thanks,” he mumbled as I pushed the mug closer to him. Bucky had already removed his signature black baseball hat and set it to the side. I laced my fingers through the handle of my tea mug and contemplated saying something. His hands were shoved in his pockets and eyes trained downwards, his shoulders pulled up so they were almost touching the edges of his hair. It was like phantom claws were digging into the skin and muscles of the tops of his arms. He was so tense I decided to say nothing and took a sip of tea instead. 

“I wanted to apologize,” He looked up suddenly and hesitated when he saw me raise an eyebrow in wonder, “For… overstepping my boundaries.”

I paused momentarily, then let out a laugh. “Sorry,” I stammered. 

Bucky was almost comically serious. It was weird to hear him apologize for something I had enjoyed completely and thoroughly but appreciated the respectful gesture. 

Eventually, he smiled too, “I’m sorry, you just make me nervous.” 

“ _ I  _ make  _ you _ nervous?” I spouted, filling his mug with fresh coffee.

He looked to the side. 

“Are you kidding? You look like you could pull up a whole sequoia with your pinky.” 

He knitted his brows and laughed at my hyperbole, finally meeting my eyes with skepticism. I still thought it was true though. 

“Gosh,” He muttered, shaking his head, “Look, I just felt bad after rushing out and thought I owed you an explanation.” He pulled his mug closer to him and wrapped his gloved hands around the ceramic, mimicking my own posture. 

I too felt phantom talons own pulling at my shoulders. My ex-boyfriend Jesse had used similar wording when he apologized after hitting me for the first time, and I had totally fallen for it. 

I figured it best not to tell Bucky what I was thinking, so I just nodded encouragingly. 

Bucky took a deep breath and exhaled quickly, preparing himself for the absolute worst. 

“So, I  _ am  _ from Brooklyn,” He wavered briefly and continued, “But I was born on March 10, 1917.” He looked up to read my face, which I kept expressionless, though I did the math in my head. 

He looked pretty good for ninety-seven. 

I gestured again, waiting for him to continue. Bucky looked back down into his coffee that had yet to touch his lips and forced a smile, “I’m sorry,” He professed for the third time that night. “I’ve never told this story to anyone.” Bucky looked nearly green under the light as if he were suddenly nauseous. 

It suddenly hit me that he wasn’t going to be lying or making up some story as Jesse had. Bucky’s eyes were glassy, and his face radiated absolute anguish that made my heart shrivel. 

I laid a hand out across the counter as a peace offering, “Take your time and breathe. I’m not going anywhere,” He met my gaze. “You don’t have to talk if you don’t want to.” 

A small smile tugged at his soft lips and light returned to his eyes, “I need to,” Bucky placed his right hand (still gloved) on top of mine and squeezed my fingers, “I have to tell  _ someone _ .” 

I was startled by his gentle gesture and simple words but returned the smile. It was strange to feel his fingers, even through his glove. He kept hold of my hand as he began recounting details of his life.

Bucky vaguely discussed his life in Brooklyn, but it was rather generic. There weren’t many details or specific stories, just indefinite broad strokes. His eyebrows were knit together as he spoke slowly as if recalling his own memories was a difficult task. He glazed over his teenage years in the nineteen-thirties, still looking like he was struggling to remember large gaps in his life. 

“And then the war broke out.” 

With his free hand, he took a large gulp of coffee, and I imagined he wished it was something else. I said nothing, but gripped his hand a little tighter, reminding him I was there.

Bucky continued his personal story in a smaller voice about joining the Army, attending basic training, rising to the rank of sergeant, and eventually being shipped off to England. 

Bucky then recounted a short anecdote about serving on the front lines with more detail than anything else before which made my teeth chatter in my mouth, but I kept my composure. 

“We were captured by Hydra.” 

My heart dropped to my toes and my mouth suddenly went dry.

Bucky carefully and cautiously met my eyes, “Have, have you heard of them before?”

I nodded but didn’t dare offer any explanation as to why the name made my skin crawl and throat close. The average person would have at least heard of the disgusting organization in a history class, but I had my own personal vendetta. 

He looked away and frowned as he tried to describe details of the horrifying conditions of the weapons facilities and factories where prisoners of war were forced to work. Bucky’s voice continued to grow quieter and darker as the name  _ Zola  _ came through his lips. It was the first person he named, and it, unfortunately, became clear why he had been so memorable. The bastard strapped Bucky to a table and experimented on him, trying to find some result that at the time proved unsuccessful. 

The smallest of smiles finally braced Bucky’s lips after his records of pure torture. “I guess that’s where Steve comes in.” Bucky bit his lip, “He got this super-soldier serum stuff pumped into him and he sprouted muscles and grew a dozen inches. And Captain America was born.”

My mind went blank at the dignified and well-known name. 

_ Wait,  _ I studied Bucky as he took another sip of his coffee I tried to put some of the pieces of this unbelievable puzzle together. The man sitting in my kitchen was childhood best friends with  _ the  _ Captain America.

_ But, how is he here? How is he alive?  _ Just looking at him, he couldn’t be much older than 30, at least biologically. Questions started piling up in my head, and I quickly lost track of them when Bucky began speaking again.

He mentioned being a sniper with the Howling Commandos, working with  _ the  _ Captain America and taking out numerous Hydra labs and locations, and saving the prisoners within their walls. 

He sighed softly, “And then there was the raid on the train.” 

Bucky was silent for longer than normal until a mournful whimper came from his mouth. My blood ran cold at the pitiful sound. He unraveled his hand from mine and rubbed his face like there was something uncomfortable clinging to his skin. As I looked on, his chest moved up and down quickly, matching his fast breathing. 

To my absolute astonishment, Bucky tore off the glove from his right hand and reached out towards me. It seemed like he was about to hold my hand, but he stopped himself and met my eyes with a questioning expression. 

“It’s alright,” I told him through a confident whisper, offering the affection of a held hand. He hastily laced his bare fingers through mine with a slight whimper. 

There were no strange lesions and no rash on his skin, and he had all of his fingers. His hand was warm and a little sweaty from the glove, but it was incredibly comforting. I laid my other hand on top of his for just a touch more encouragement as trembling guilt poured from his fingers and the little skin I was touching. I tried to search his face, but he had hunched his shoulders and was hiding his eyes from my view. 

At last he took a shaky breath, “Something, something went wrong on the train and I fell from the mountain into a river.” 

I don’t know what I was expecting to hear, but it certainly wasn’t that. My eyes bulged and my mind raced as my mouth opened.  _ From a mountain?!  _ Words weren’t allowed to leave my lips yet though, not until I had more information.

I closed my eyes and regained my composure, swallowing harshly with my dry throat. 

“I somehow survived, but I lost my left arm.” 

_ Oh my god. _ I bit the inside of my cheeks, holding down the gasp that was desperately trying to escape my lips as my eyes gently traced the left arm that he did have. 

“I prayed for death but I wasn’t lucky enough for that.”

I wanted to yell and scream at him, telling him his life was absolutely worth living, but I understood his yearnings. 

“Someone found me and took me to a Hydra facility that was nearby.” His words were choppy and uneven, “I-I don’t know how long… I have no idea… but I was out, and then when I woke up I-” He struggled to choose his words, “I had this.” 

Bucky shrugged his left shoulder as he studied the countertop. Frankly, I wish he could have had a rash or even missed a few fingers after the next horrors he recounted.

Hydra fucking used him as their personal weapon once he was outfitted with a new bionic, metal arm, made to take out any individual or organization that stood in way of world domination. They wiped Bucky’s memory, brainwashing him and forcing him to be nothing less than a hollow, metal shell of a weapon. And they would  _ freeze  _ him in suspended animation so they could keep using him for years to come. For decades they would wipe his memory with electro-shock therapy, out of fear that he might remember his past life. 

His voice was deep, and barely a whisper, “They woke me up a few months ago, gave me a mission,” Bucky’s words seemingly died in his throat, but he swallowed and forced himself to continue. He told me about going after the director of Shield and some others, including Captain America. Bucky hesitated to continue, but it was all clearly unbelievably and excruciatingly painful for him. 

“I fought him,” Bucky squinted as though he wasn’t sure what he was saying, “But, he wouldn’t, he wouldn’t retaliate. And then he said something…” He shook his head, “It brought me out of the-the...” He lifted his left hand and moved it around his forehead. “I didn’t exactly remember him, but I just got this feeling that it was all _wrong._ Like,” he took a sharp breath, “I don’t know, I don’t know how to explain it. But, I knew that Capt-” he stopped himself, “That _Steve_ wasn’t my enemy and he knew who I was when I didn’t.” 

_ Steve gave him back his free will... _

Bucky ended up rescuing Steve from the Potomac river before disappearing and deserting Hydra.

“And now I’m here,” He said in a barely audible, broken tone. His fingers held in mine closed around me, and he looked up into my eyes, “I just don’t want you to think I was taking advantage of your kindness. I’m just terrible with emotions and feelings and stuff after everything.” 

_ Stuff. Everything. _

We sat in silence as he continued to breathe heavily for a few moments, desperately holding back tears. I didn’t dare move my hands from his, so I rubbed my right thumb over his skin. 

I probably should have been terrified, screaming for help after letting a ghost of an assassin into my life. 

But I wasn’t scared, at least not of Bucky. All I felt was sympathy for him. 

Everything was clearly still so recent in his mind, and within his tangled web of memories he was just trying to live again; to simply  _ exist  _ in the world with the ability to make his choices again. But as Bucky sat across the counter from me, his hand wrapped up safely in mine, he radiated guilt. It was palpable in the air all around him and in every movement and action. Obviously, Bucky wasn’t ready to forgive himself for everything he’d been forced to do, even if his star-spangled best friend had in the middle of the sky before plummeting to his near-death. 

_ And I thought I had a sad backstory,  _ thinking of my father’s murder and mother’s early death. But I couldn’t think of myself when Bucky had just recited his life story and was barely holding himself together. It was a miracle he was even alive, sitting in my apartment.

“I’m sorry,” I said eventually, “I’m glad you told me,” I squeezed his hand and shook my head, “All these things,” Bucky looked up as I recalled a previous statement, “And  _ I _ make  _ you _ nervous?” 

He stared at me for a few seconds before exhaling loudly. He looked stunned but in a good way. Bucky gave half a smile and half a chuckle as he spoke in quiet aggression, “Are you  _ kidding me _ ?” 

I shrugged, “None of it was your fault.” 

He obviously wasn’t the same brash and successful young man he was before the war, but the memories he had piled up couldn’t be forgotten. 

“How are you even still sitting here right now?” His loud whisper was a mix of anger and relief, “How are you…” He looked down at our interlocked hands and didn’t finish his question. 

I wetted my dry lips as a few of my own secrets finally slipped into the light.

“My father was in the Army,” I kept a gentle grip on his hand. 

Bucky’s exasperated face suddenly turned to one of fear. 

“He was a physician and a physicist,” I recounted fondly, “He never saw real combat, but he worked with the men and women who did.” I squeezed Bucky’s hand for a moment, “I’ll be right back, I’m just going to get something from my bedroom closet.” 

He let my hand go and watched as I walked into my bedroom, heading for my closet. The box of my Dad’s things hadn’t been touched in years, and I was both excited and a little nervous to reminisce over his favorite memories.

I pulled down the old cardboard banker box and stepped back out into my bedroom, glancing quickly at my bed as I passed. Lethargy had threatened me earlier, but it wasn’t time to sleep just yet. 

Bucky was slumped over the countertop, trying to make himself look smaller as his shoulders rolled and tensed. A glove still covered his left hand as he hid his face in his palms, shame radiating around him. 

I set the box down on the coffee table and plopped myself down on the right side of the couch. Bucky looked back at the sound and I waved him over, “Come here. I want to show you something.”

He sat down softly on the couch, still tense after learning my father was an Army doctor. 

“Bucky,” He looked up at the sound of his own name, “You don’t have anything to worry about.” 

His eyes flitted up to mine, “I’m not so sure about that.” 

I pursed my lips at him, confident I knew that thought running through his consciousness, but I didn’t want to assume. 

“My father died in 1999,” I reached over and pulled the lid off the top of the box, “Well, he was murdered.” 

Bucky tightened as he looked towards the ground as if in physical pain, “Elle, I-”

“It wasn’t you,” I said quickly, and Bucky looked back at me with wide, blown eyes. Apparently, my guess was right. 

“Are you,” He looked like he was going to vomit again. Bucky closed his eyes and inhaled deeply before asking in a whisper,  _ “Are you sure?  _ Because I don’t even, I can’t… ”

Panic was beginning to settle in across his features and my instincts took over. I scooted a bit closer to him on the couch and slowly reached for his hand.

“Can I hold your hand again?” 

He looked surprised, almost confused by my question, but nodded. My left hand slipped over the top of his right, and his lips parted slightly as our skin met for the second time that evening. 

“Listen to me,” I squeezed his hand again, “My father died from an explosion in the lab where he worked. There was this massive fire…” My chest began to hurt from the memories, “He didn’t make it out. Nobody did.” 

“I’m so sorry,” Bucky squeezed my hand gently. 

“Thanks,” I forced a smile that quickly faded, “But, he was murdered by Hydra.” 

Bucky’s face fell again.    
“One of his colleagues,” I said in a hard voice, “I just don’t know which one.” 

He swallowed, still uncomfortable. 

I cleared my throat and let go of his hand, “Anyway, I wanted to show you something.” 

Bucky said nothing as he folded his hands in his lap and I slid the box closer. On the top was my father’s favorite dark green sweatshirt, a faded moose in sunglasses printed on the fabric. 

A smile split my face, “We used to drive up to Canada a lot. Niagara Falls and Toronto and stuff,” My voice trailed away as I pulled it out of the box and tossed it onto the nearby armchair. 

“Niagara Falls,” Bucky whispered suddenly, “I always wanted to go there.” 

I smiled at the confession. 

The box was filled with a lot of knick-knacks, but I went straight for the leather-bound journal and flipped to the very last page. My father’s disastrously illegible handwriting was like artwork; it took years to learn how to interpret it. He had written using his favorite blue-inked pen only a few words:

_ Montgomery or Salazar -  _ _ HYDRA _

“Your father was clearly a smart man,” Bucky said quietly. I nodded. The page was dated three days before he died, and I didn’t believe in coincidences. 

“There’s something else you should see,” I mused, digging down until I found the figurine I was looking for. 

“Here,” I handed him the small action figure as he gasped into an odd smile. 

“No way,” He accepted the worn toy in gentle fingers, turning it over slowly, “They made Steve into an action figure.” 

“He was my Dad’s hero,” Bucky glanced up, “Captain America’s courage and energy inspired him to enlist right out of medical school. He met my mother the day he returned from his tour.”

I shifted so I could face Bucky a bit easier, trying to figure out what to say, “Look, thank you for telling me who you are.” He studied my face as words started pouting, “I don’t think you’re a bad person. Clearly, you’ve lived through worse than Hell, but you’re here.” 

Bucky held my eyes and I continued, “My dad’s hero knew you and chose to see you as a friend rather than an enemy, and I’m choosing the same, even if…” I pushed forward, “Even if you’re still figuring things out and remembering who you are.” 

His eyebrows furrowed at me, “How… So… so you’re not scared of me?”

I smiled at him, “Nah,” The admission came honestly, “How could I be afraid of someone whose favorite food is pie for goodness sake?” 

Bucky shook his head at me and chuckled. 

“Truthfully,” I continued, “I trust you. Somehow you ended up at my diner ordering average coffee and above-average pie, and, I don’t know,” I thought a little more, “You seem like a good person.” 

“I don’t feel like one,” He conceded, fingers tracing over the star on plastic Captain America’s chest as his voice grew soft once more, “I feel like a monster most days.” 

It was my turn for my brows to furrow at him. Bucky was a hero for the work he did as a Howling Commando, that much was obvious. It was clear that what he was forced to do as a part of Hydra wasn’t his choice, and if given an option, he’d give anything to undo the damage he’d been brainwashed to create.

“You’re not a monster. Maybe that’s what Hydra tried to turn you into, but it didn’t stick,” I stared over at his left hand, “You’re a hero. You saved Steve, and you saved me, and you didn’t have to. That was a choice all on your own. You  _ chose  _ to be a good person, even if it wasn’t what you intended. A monster could never.”

Bucky just stared up at me. He seemed so surprised by my words, that I actually  _ cared.  _ It was so sad, and I didn’t want to dwell on the past any longer. 

“So what happens now?” I asked.

Bucky shrugged and shook his head, “I don’t know. Lay low, stay out of trouble,” He handed the action figure back to me, “Try and figure out what my new normal is.” 

I nodded, gingerly placing the plastic cap back in the box, “Well, I’m here if you need me. If you need a friend.” The word friend felt heavy on my tongue.

_ Are we friends? Do I want to be friends with him? _ My brain reminded me of our kiss; friend definitely didn’t feel like the right word, but I decided not to dwell on it for the time being.

“Thank you,” Bucky eventually managed, “Thank you for listening, and for talking to me and for, I don’t know, just, existing?” 

“You’re welcome.” 

We giggled together until silence slowly enveloped the room. 

I cleared my throat and stood, “Do you want some more coffee?” 

“No,” He gazed over at me, “Thank you though. I should probably get going.”

Bucky began to stand up, and instinctively I opened my arms, offering him a hug. A smile pulled at one side of his lips, and he took a step towards me. 

I wrapped my arms around his neck and gently caressed his shoulders. Bucky was clearly surprised by how tightly I held him with the low sound he made in the back of his throat, but he accepted me graciously. I nuzzled into his neck as his arms surrounded me. To be able to feel his heartbeat against my own once more was intoxicatingly stirring, and I put a hand on the back of his bare neck, stroking him gently. I balanced my breathing involuntarily until it completely matched his. 

“You don’t have to be alone,” My lips accidentally brushed against his bare neck, and he briefly shuddered against me. I reluctantly pulled back to scan his expression, but he wouldn’t meet my eyes. I kept my right arm tucked around his neck as my left arm rested on his only real bicep. My head connected with his left shoulder, and I was conscious that part of it was metal and bionic, but it was still Bucky. 

“If you want, we can watch a movie,” I offered, very aware of his hands still on my back, not wanting to leave just yet.

A modest smirk glimpsed his lips as I stared at them longingly. 

“I’ll take that as a yes,” I whispered. I untangled myself from our embrace and approached my small collection of DVDs. Sure, I considered finishing our saga of Star Wars films, but something a little less violent and depressing was in order.

“Will you please let me wash the mugs?” He asked insistently. 

I smiled, shaking my head, “If you really want to.” 

Apparently, he did and washed out the french press and two mugs as I set up the movie in the DVD player. While his back was still turned, I snuck over to my bedroom and pulled on a pair of fuzzy red and white striped socks, and stealthily slipped off my bra. I headed back to the living room and pulled open the closet doors, pulling out the two coziest and comfiest blankets, one pink with red hearts and the other yellow with jumping sheep. I turned on my heel and was about to announce that Bucky would be receiving the baby pink blanket when my voice caught in my throat. 

He had taken off his sweatshirt and was holding his metal wrist with his other hand. The limb was shining silver, with distinct black indentations, almost like organized veins or scales. The cap sleeve of his white t-shirt covered most of what looked like a red star on the outside of his upper arm. I swallowed hard and dropped the blankets on the couch next to him. He watched me as I turned out the light above the island, pouring darkness into the apartment, with the glare of the tv being my only guide back to the couch. To my surprise, Bucky already had the pink blanket draped over himself, hiding most of his bionic arm, though his right hand rested above the Valentine’s Day theme covering. I sat down next to him, unfolding the sheep covered fleece as he continued to look at me with a contented smile. 

“What?” I asked, tucking my legs under me. 

He shook his head, “I just realized I’ve never seen you with your hair down before today. It’s pretty.” 

“Thanks,” I fiddled with my fingers, “Your hair is pretty too.” 

He laughed, and I joined in, hoping he couldn’t see the blush settling in on my face in the darkness. 

“So,” He asked as I reached for the remote on the coffee table, “What’s this movie about?” 

“It’s a 1995 thriller about a cowboy’s and spaceman’s unlikely friendship and their adventure to find safety, acceptance, and family,” I said nonchalantly. 

“Wow,” He sat up, “Sounds fascinating.” He sounded generally interested and I felt kinda bad considering it wasn’t going to be quite what he expected. As soon as the play cardboard buildings came across the screen and Mr. Potato Head jumped in with a plastic green gun, Bucky raised an eyebrow at me, a perplexed look spread across his face. 

I took the opportunity to squeeze his visible hand, “Just wait,” I whispered excitedly. 

As soon as Sheriff Woody stepped in, he looked a little less confused. I went to take my hand away, only to realize he was holding on. It was odd how intimate the moment felt between us with my favorite childhood film playing, seemingly in the background as I focused on the energy fluttering between us. 

The darkness made me feel rather lethargic, and by the time Buzz Lightyear showed up for the first time, I was yawning widely. 

“Tired?” Bucky asked alluringly, gently lacing his fingers through mine. 

“Mmm,” I hummed, refusing my heavy eyelids, “Exhausted.” My eyes remained on the screen, but I could see Bucky looking at me from across the couch, and he rubbed his thumb across my hand. It was unbelievably exhilarating to feel his skin, and I started to give in to my desire for sleep. My head began to fall and rise and I started to lose more and more awareness. 

“Alright,” Bucky untangled his fingers from mine, “Come here,” He put an arm around my waist and pulled me closer to him. His hand rested on my right shoulder, and my head connected with his upper arm as my hand laid motionless on his knee. He rubbed my arm tenderly as I was enveloped in his comforting musk, slowly falling deeper into unconsciousness. The last thing I remember was the soothing feeling of him slowly rubbing my upper back, neck, and shoulder as his head gently connected with mine before completely giving into my lethargy. 


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In this unnecessarily detailed chapter, Bucky and Elle continue to get closer as she shares the story of what happened between her and her ex.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just as a warning, Elle recounts her story with past domestic violence in his chapter. The parts where she mentions specifics are between lines. It's nothing explicitly graphic, but if this is a subject that could be triggering or upsetting, please skip it and resume after the next marking. Thank you!

Saturday, May 10

I had regular nightmares about Jesse. Most nights I would fall asleep reading or listening to a podcast in bed to distract my brain from the horrible places it could go. 

I wasn’t that lucky to escape his clutches that night. This time, I was walking across a bridge in the darkness when he came up behind me and chased me with a knife, eventually shoving me off into an abyss below. That was the typical dream though, walking, trying to escape, and Jesse catching up and pushing me, resulting in my immediate demise. 

I opened my eyes slowly as the fear and panic started to subside. 

Waking up with Bucky’s arm around my waist after a nightmare was a curious pleasure. I had no idea how we ended up in our final resting place, but somehow we shared the fuzzy throw pillow and couch cushions, spooning comfortably with both blankets tangled between us. His real arm hung limp around my belly button and his metal one was beneath the pillow, sticking out behind my head. I was careful not to move at all but looked inquisitively at his unfamiliar hand. It was impeccable craftsmanship for sure, and I had the urge to grasp his silver fingers, wanting to answer any of the many questions I had about it.

Namely, could he  _ feel  _ with it? Or sense human touch? And how was it connected to his shoulder? Also, I was worried about him saying that I made him nervous. It was hard to tell if he was genuinely intimidated, or if it was just a flirty exchange. I exhaled softly, considering all my inquiries. 

_ In due time,  _ I told myself. He had just professed his entire life story to me yesterday, and while I was interested to know more, I was willing to be patient if it meant he felt comfortable and safe. I felt Bucky’s chest rise against my back as he took a deep breath. It felt absolutely  _ heavenly,  _ and I bit my bottom lip to silence the sound that wanted to coincide with my sharp inhale. 

“Mmm, good morning princess,” He murmured tantalizingly into my hair. 

“Morning,” I replied simply. Bucky sat up unbelievably quickly, comically scurrying to the other side of the couch. 

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to… uh,” He adorably stammered the unintelligible strings of words as I sat up against the pillow, stretching my arm over to the table to put on my glasses. His eyes were darting all around the room trying to avoid my gaze as a beautiful scarlet settled on his cheeks. 

“You know, I’ve never slept on the couch before.”

He looked up a little confused, “What?”

I leaned back against the couch cushion adjusting my glasses, “I’ve had this couch for five years and never slept on it during the night. And it’s  _ really  _ comfortable.” Part of me wanted to mention that it was Bucky who made the couch particularly satisfying, but I didn’t want to make him more uncomfortable than he already looked. 

“It’s a good couch,” He agreed, “Thanks for letting me spend the night again. You are completely welcome to kick me out at any time.” 

I raised an eyebrow at him, “Do you want to leave?” 

He finally met my eyes after a few moments of hesitation, “I mean it is a  _ very _ comfortable couch.” 

I threw my head back and laughed as Bucky chuckled too. He shifted at the end of the couch, holding and covering his left arm with his right. I couldn’t quite see him as well last night in the darkness, but in the morning daylight, his white t-shirt framed his toned and sturdy arms extremely well. I forced myself to look away because I was definitely staring too long, and in the fog of morning confusion, I blurted out a question. 

“Why do I make you nervous?” 

“What?” 

My cheeks were searing as I scratched the back of my neck trying to string together a comprehensible explanation, “It baffles me that someone like me could ever make someone like you uncomfortable.” 

He raised an eyebrow, as his voice dropped low, “Someone like me?” 

“No! Not like-” I covered my face in my hands trying to figure out how to explain my feelings, “I just mean that I’m a college dropout waitress and you’re a gorgeous, athletic, selfless man with stunning hair.” I couldn’t read his expression because I was staring at the floor, wishing someone could break down the door and hit me on the back of the head with a club. The couch cushions shifted in front of me, and suddenly Bucky was inches from my face, his knees brushing mine.

“Do  _ I  _ make  _ you _ nervous?” He returned in a low, gravelly voice. 

I swallowed as my eyes darted up to his lips, which I longed to taste again.

“Not in the way you think,” I whispered eventually, my gaze still captured by his slightly parted lips. 

“You know you’re a lot more than just a waitress,” He sat back casually as my gaze went from his lips to his eyes, which were peering into mine attentively. 

I smiled quietly and looked away, “Yeah, okay.” 

“I mean it, Elle,” Bucky said sternly. I glanced up, but he had looked away. “You’re incredibly intelligent and sincerely compassionate and funny and-” He fumbled with his metal fingers as a smile tugged at his lips, “You’ve been the first person to look at me like a real human being that matters in a long time.”

Now  _ that  _ broke my heart. I wish I could just heal him. Just wave a wand or sprinkle some magic just to make everything better. 

“I never thought a beautiful, incredible woman like you would even give me the time of day, and it terrifies me that I could potentially screw it up,” He looked down at his metal arm, “I don’t want to hurt you.” 

We sat in silence a moment, and I basked in the fact he just called me beautiful. I reached out my hand for his, but he pulled away.

“I’m not afraid of you,” He looked up at me with almost hopeful eyes, “I trust you.” 

Bucky stopped moving, holding his breath as I moved closer to him. I reached out with my right hand and brushed a piece of hair behind his ear as I wrapped up his metal fingers with my other hand. Eventually, I moved to hold his hand in both of mine, rubbing my fingers across his knuckles, gently touching the hardware, and relishing the fact I was holding Bucky’s hand. 

“Can you feel me?” I murmured, still indulging in him. 

His tongue brushed across his upper lip briefly, “Yes.” He swallowed, “I just,” Bucky turned so his legs were crossed and facing me. He also took up both my hands, lacing his fingers through mine, “I just,” he said again, pulling me a little closer to him, resting our intertwined hands on his knees, “How do you not see me as a monster?” 

My expression softened, and I tilted my head to the side, “Bucky,” 

“No I mean it,” He shook his head, releasing our held gaze, “I’ve done terrible,  _ terrible  _ things and somehow you still let me into your home and,”

“Bucky?”

“And sit on your couch, hold your hands,”

“Bucky.”

“And  _ kiss you, _ ”

“Bucky!” I squeezed his hands and he finally looked up at me with sad eyes and a heaving chest, “I’ve met a fair share of monsters in my day. The people who murdered my father were monsters. The corrupt mayor Oakville had back in the early nineties was a monster. My ex? Wow, he was a horrible, _terrible_ monster who hurt me in countless ways,” I brought his hands closer to me, “The people who hurt you? They’re all monsters. You were just caught up in it because you were at the wrong place at the wrong time. _You,_ James Buchanan Barnes, are not a monster.” 

“Yeah, but I-”

“Don’t you  _ ever _ call yourself that again,” He looked incredulous with his mouth hanging open. I leaned in for a moment, inches from his face, “Or else you can kiss the comfortable couch goodbye.” 

A massive smile split his face and he turned away to laugh. 

What can I say, breaking tender moments for a joke is kinda my thing. 

He shook his head, “You are unlike anyone I have ever met.” 

“Yeah, you’re something special too,” I flashed a teasing smile. A pesky piece of hair fell back in his face on the other side and I reached out to push it away with my left hand. I was much slower this time, running my whole hand through his hair and lingering on his beard and skin. Bucky leaned into my hand, which was now cupping his face, and he closed his eyes.  He raised his right hand and slid his fingers through mine. More surprises followed as he pressed his soft lips to the edge of my palm. I caressed his face, the corners of my own lips turning upwards. He laid more feather-like kisses on my palm as I teased his other hand and knee with my fingers. His innocent brushes soon advanced as he placed an open-mouthed kiss on my wrist, my stomach beginning to twist in delight. My long sleeve t-shirt stood in his way of escalating further, and I squeezed his fingers, wanting him to stop so he couldn’t see what horrors I was hiding on my own left arm.

“Got any weekend plans?” I asked in a quietly coy tone. 

He opened his eyes and met mine, still pressed to my hand, “Is that an invitation?” 

His breath tickled my skin as I broke out into a giddy smile, “Absolutely.” 

It was decided that a hike through the Oakville woods would be perfect considering the beautiful, yet temperate weather. As an added bonus, most of the town was glued to restaurants and bars for the playoff hockey game between the New York Beavers and Pittsburgh Polar Bears. As great as hockey is, I would have  _ much _ rather spent the day with Bucky. We figured that it would be best to meet at the entrance in the park and find a nice picnic spot after a relaxing walk through the woods. But, Bucky didn’t know that I already had the perfect place picked out. After a brief farewell that included no physical contact to my dismay, he gently closed the door behind him, leaving me absolutely impatient and greedy behind the kitchen counter. I slipped down to the ground with my knees to my chest, covering my face with my hands. The laugh I had been holding in for hours finally escaped my lips and the biggest smile split my lips. The butterflies in my stomach and on my skin were welcomingly unfamiliar, and they were more exciting than anything. 

I eventually packed us an adorable lunch of chicken salad sandwiches, green grapes and strawberries, cucumbers, and some pre-cut cheese and crackers. The ordinary food stared back at me in the black insulated bag as I ran my fingers along worn edges.

“Lemonade!” I suddenly exclaimed as I heard my father’s voice in my head.

“ _ You can’t have a real picnic without fresh, cold lemonade! _ ”

Unfortunately, I didn’t have any lemons on hand, but dug around the top drawers and found one of the instant lemonade packets. It wasn’t even close to the real stuff, but it would have to do. After the food was all packed, I fumbled over what to do with my hair but eventually gave up and put it into two french braids. I also donned a pair of black leggings with some mesh detailing and a long-sleeve turquoise t-shirt. It might have been sunny out, but I always felt better with my arms covered. After slipping on my sneakers and glasses, I locked the door behind me and headed for the park. 

I went through the checklist of items I needed in my head,  _ blanket, food, napkins, keys, _ I also had my phone and wallet, but they were irrelevant for a walk in the woods. I took the left stairs like always and hopped down the steps after leaving the heavy door behind me. 

It really was a perfect day for the beginning of May. The sun was out, but the cloud cover was vast enough to keep the temperature comfortable. I looked over the edge of the brick wall to see the bright pink begonias and black-eyed susans in perfect bloom, clearly enjoying the sunshine after last week’s rainstorms. The sight made me smile and I admired the blooming crab apple and cherry trees throughout the town against the backdrop of brick and concrete buildings. Alternatively, as I drew closer to Park West, dandelions and daisies with feather-like petals dotted the field and trees, adding a yellow haze of pollen to the park. I took a breath in and promptly sneezed loudly. 

_ Some things never change, _ I thought, rubbing my nose on my sleeve. Gosh, when was the last time I went to the hiking trails or even the park? Jesse always found hiking and picnics boring and preferred more competitive outdoor activities. I had convinced myself that I didn’t mind, but as I walked across the creek on the red metal bridge, the nostalgia enveloped me, and I couldn’t believe I denied myself such a simple pleasure for so long. I walked along the edge of the woods alongside the beautiful yet aggressive vines of crown vetch. 

“Two years,” I audibly groaned, “Who the Hell doesn’t like a picnic in the woods?” I should’ve known after that, but spent over a year with the prick.

“What was that?” Bucky popped up around the large entrance sign. 

I inhaled suddenly at his miraculous appearance, “Hey!” I quickly regained my composure, “What’re you up to?” I raised an eyebrow at him. 

He gestured to the sign, “Just reading up on the history. It’s really fascinating,” Bucky looked back at the sign with a pleasant expression that simply warmed my heart. It was unfair how he made a pair of jeans, navy hoodie, black t-shirt, and black baseball cap look  _ so good _ , but defeating the odds kind of seemed to be his thing. Plus his fascination with the short history of the trail was equally adorable. 

“Come on, Buster,” I teased, “We’re going off-road.” We walked up the well-trodden dirt trail side by side for a few minutes as I pointed out the different types of trees and wildflowers. 

“Hey look, another Oaktree,” I teased.

Bucky chuckled, “I never would have expected  _ Oakville _ to have so many  _ oak  _ trees.”

I laughed along with him, “Yeah, we’re real original in this town.” He chuckled again, but his smile faded quickly. I narrowed my eyes as he studied the rocks along the trail, “What’s on your mind?” I queried. 

He wouldn’t meet my eyes and kicked a rock at his feet, mumbling something I couldn’t hear. 

“What?” 

“You talk in your sleep.” 

I laughed, “Yeah, it’s a pretty bad habit. Ooh, did I divulge some dark secret? Or reveal my father’s secret pie recipe?”

Bucky managed a half-smile and adjusted his cap, “No, no, nothing like that I think,” he paused, “Just a name over and over again.” 

My throat closed and tension washed over my arm. I instantly knew what was coming and I desperately didn’t want to talk about it. 

Eventually, I acknowledged his probe in a much too confident voice, “Yeah?” 

“Yeah,” Bucky agreed, “Jesse must be a meaningful person.” My blood ran cold at the sound of his name, but I managed a laugh and a grin. 

_ He’s surely meaningful in one way or another. _

We reached a fork in the path as Bucky stopped and pressed me for more information, “Do you love him?” I closed my eyes wishing I didn't have to talk about him, “Or, did he break your heart or something?” His voice was soft and hoarse. 

I crossed in front of him, taking the left trail. Looking over my shoulder, I saw he was looking up at me with a wistful face, “Bucky,” I turned back, taking a few steps and cupped his cheek, “He didn’t break my heart,” He sighed at me, his lips turning up briefly as I looked away and forced a smile, “But he did break my arm.” I turned on my heel, dropping my hand and trying to ignore the sight of Bucky’s bulging eyeballs and open mouth. 

It took him a few seconds to respond before roaring, “What?!” I didn’t respond as he jogged up to me, “Wait a second! Elle!” Bucky eventually caught up to me with the most incredulous expression as I stared straight ahead, “Was this your ex?” 

I eventually met his eyes and gave him another forced, toothy grin. 

Bucky threw his head back in frustration, “So he shatters your arm then breaks your door down?!”

“Well, technically he broke the door down  _ first _ -” 

“Elle!”   
“What?!” I yelled, stopping in my tracks. He was surprised by my sudden burst and I subsequently turned and groaned, “Look, I was having a nightmare, okay? Nothing more! Besides, I haven’t seen him in months.” 

“ _ Months? _ You’re telling me this was  _ recent _ ?” 

I looked away in shame, “I’m sorry. I just,” I sighed again, not being able to find the words as my mind drew a blank.

Bucky laid a soft, gloved hand on my shoulder and brushed his fingers on my back, “I’m sorry,” He whispered, “I didn’t mean to push you.” 

I smiled and shifted back to face him, “No, it’s time someone knew,” My hand drifted back up to his face, “But why don’t we get to our picnic spot first.” 

I tickled his beard with my fingers and he put his lips to my knuckles, “Absolutely.” Bucky dropped his arm from my shoulder, but I caught it with my hand and held on tightly. We continued up the trail, taking another left up the more rugged path. I couldn’t help but wish that Bucky would take off his gloves, considering we were in the middle of the woods and there was no one around, but I understood it was a sensitive issue. 

I didn’t really have a place to talk considering I typically stuck to long sleeves, so I just enjoyed the soothing feeling of holding his hand. After fifteen minutes or so, though it always felt longer when I was a kid, we finally reached the clearing. 

“Here we go!” I pushed back some of the overgrown shrubs to reveal my favorite place in Oakville. 

“Wow,” Bucky mouthed, stepping into the sunlight. It was perfect. The lake was quiet, apart from where the river rushed in. Pine trees bordered the grassy clearing and water in a romantic way, but the residing oak trees gave just the right amount of shade. Forget me nots and daisies grew on the banks, and the silky mossy rocks set amongst the lakeside were reminiscent of the beautiful blue sky and puffy white clouds. 

“Yeah,” Was all I could muster before shaking the sentiment. “Come on, over here.” I led him over to the grassy bank where my family used to picnic before everything changed. We opened and laid out the green and blue blanket when I promptly tumbled down onto it, closing my eyes and breathing in the scent of fresh-cut grass and maple syrup that was still woven into the seams. I balled clumps of the sheet into my hands, as Bucky sat down next to me. 

“We used to come here in the summer,” I confessed in an undertone, “There was one time, after the summer science fair, we spent the whole afternoon and evening here, picking flowers and identifying bird calls,” I sniffed the air, full of pollen and pine, “There was one time my dad and I tried fishing in the lake,” I laughed, “We sat on the bank for three hours, listening to the wind making up stories and naming the fish that would pass up our flies,” I sniffled and whispered, “They were all named fishy or squirmy.” 

Bucky gave a low chuckle and I opened my eyes. He had taken off his sweatshirt, hat, and gloves and was leaning on his arm and looking down at me with jubilant eyes. 

“Look,” I pointed to the wild daylilies that grew out of the steep mountainside. Bucky turned to admire the elegant orange and yellow flowers as I returned my hand to the blanket, “They used to grow in our backyard,” I took another breath of the blanket and closed my eyes again, “We’d have picnics there too. On Sundays in the spring I would lay out the blanket before the dew had dried on the grass,” I bit back a smile, “I’d wake up my parents and we’d sit out on the blanket and eat pancakes with blueberries that we’d pick in the garden. Maple syrup would always get everywhere…” I giggled, “One time my dad spent fifteen minutes squeezing a dozen oranges just to accidentally spill the pitcher,” I shut my eyes harder, “We had tiny apple juice boxes instead.” I inhaled the blanket one more time before sitting up, “Sorry,” I adjusted my glasses, “This place just makes me nostalgic.”

“No,” Bucky answered, “I like listening to you tell stories.” 

I understood what Bucky said, but heard Jesse’s voice in my head,  _ “You talk a lot you know? All your stories are so  _ long _ and  _ boring _. Will you  _ please _ stop talking?”  _

“Elle?” 

I looked up from my thoughts to a momentarily concerned Bucky, “Yeah,” I smiled, “Lunch?” 

Lunch was perfect. Bucky extolled my virtues again and again, but I was simply grateful for the company. When our sandwiches were gone and the lemonade thermos nearly drained, Bucky leaned back with his arms behind his head and closed his eyes.

“I think this is the most beautiful place on Earth,” He announced. 

I crossed my legs and folded my hands in my lap, looking across the lake, “I haven’t been here in years.” 

Bucky eyed me suspiciously, “How come?” 

I angled away carefully, “Jesse,” my voice withered as I chose my words carefully, “Jesse never wanted to come here.” 

Bucky sat up quickly, “You know, I’m liking this guy less and less,” He huffed. 

**Please skip if you don't wish to read Elle's retelling of her experience with domestic violence.**

* * *

_ Just wait _ , I thought as my eye caught a robin across the lake, the story beginning to tumble from my lips, “We met when we were kids,” I started, “though we didn’t really become friends until the summer basketball league when we were nine,” I leaned over slightly, “I was  _ terrible _ ,” Bucky chuckled as I returned to my position, “But I wanted to impress my Dad. See, he played basketball when he was a kid and I wanted to be like him, but it turned out I was better with books and trees,” Bucky laughed again, “But, I had two left feet and he couldn’t make a single basket, so we started a friendship as a result. We were never that close throughout middle school or high school, but we were still friendly,” I took a sip of lemonade, “It was in college that we really became friends. We took a lot of the same general classes even though I was a chem major and he was studying history. We ended up in the same friend group so we just naturally drifted closer,” I frowned, staring down at my hands, “And then my mom died. Everything changed and I just shut out the world, really. I moped around the house for months until I got the job at the diner and eventually moved to the apartment in town. For three years I just floated, not really doing anything at all. I worked at the diner and practically hid in my apartment from the rest of the world. Eventually,” I brushed a piece of hair behind my ear, “Eventually Jesse showed up at the diner on a particularly muggy day in August, two years ago. I hadn’t talked to him since the funeral and he was just-” I shook my head, “I don’t know, he was  _ too _ excited to see me. He insisted that we got a drink after I finished my shift and we ended up talking all night about his fancy job in D.C. We also downed two bottles of wine, I think.” I frowned and exhaled, “He kissed me out of the blue, and frankly, I was just thrilled to feel something,  _ anything, _ after so long. So, he worked his job at city hall and I worked at the diner,” I reached out and touched the soft grass, “I brought him here at the end of August on another really hot day,” I stretched my fingers through the grass as the blades tickled my skin, “And he complained about the bugs the whole time,” I took a deep breath, “If I didn’t know then, I should’ve known the next weekend when I offered him a glass of whiskey,” I met Bucky’s eyes over my glasses, “And he said no.” 

The slightest of curves hit Bucky’s lips as I continued, glancing back towards the lake. 

“No explanation, or willingness to try anything new,” I shook my head and closed my eyes, “It was a horrible recurring theme that took me too long to notice. He was stuck in his ways, controlling every aspect of my life and his,” I chuckled, “He didn’t like the color green. So I never wore green.”

“Isn’t that your favorite color?” He asked gently.

I smiled without meeting his eyes, “Yeah. And he didn’t like  _ pie. _ PIE of all things. But there were these little things, all these small details that I changed about myself to please him.” I paused and looked over at Bucky who was scowling. 

_ He’s cute when he scowls.  _ I threw away the thought, “What?” 

Bucky shook his head. I laid my head down on my arms and looked up at the bright blue sky, “Look, that cloud’s a frog.” I pointed at a cloud that was obviously shaped like a frog. Bucky glanced upwards then back at me. 

He leaned down on his right arm so he was looking at me, “Why in hell would anyone ever want to change  _ you? _ ” 

I curved my head closer to his, “You’re sweet, you know that?” I returned to my position, “But it gets worse before it gets better. It was our second Thanksgiving together, and we were going to drive up to his grandmother’s house about two hours away. Something,” I paused, “Something went wrong with his car I think. I don’t really remember, or maybe I never really knew, but he came into the apartment fuming angry for whatever reason. I was finishing up a green bean casserole and he just started yelling at me,” I frowned at the sky, the frog now looked kinda like a bunny with one ear, “I learned to tune him out when he was angry because he would usually just calm down, but this time was different. I interrupted his shouting to soothe him, but he just got worse. Ultimately he punched me in the face and called my dress ugly,” I yawned then leaned over to Bucky and whispered, “It was green,” I kept my eyes on the sky so I didn’t see his reaction, “He left after that, and I spent the weekend watching football and sports movies. Ooh!” I turned back to him, “We need to watch Remember the Titans. It’s a really good one. Anyway, I had the casserole to myself, yadda yadda. Eventually, he showed up at my door the next Tuesday with a dozen red roses and a sappy apology,” I shook my head,” I fell for it. I fucking fell for his I Love You’s and sob stories of being under stress and whatever explanation he offered. But it didn’t take long for him to get angry again. This time it was Christmas. Again, we were going to stay at his Grandmother’s house for a few days. But,” I shut my eyes, “We got in a fight. It was over something ridiculous, and I honestly can’t remember what it was. But I, well, everything’s kinda fuzzy about the whole day. We got into a screaming match in the hallway and I slammed the door in his face,” I shrugged,” And of  _ course _ he broke it down. Because Jesse O’Donnell always needed to have the last word and always needed to be right and in control _. _ But he lost control that day. He chased me around the apartment, pushed me against the dining room table, and threw sharp kitchen utensils at me before I could get out. I ran down the hallway but tripped because he  _ insisted _ I wore heels for whatever reason. And then he dragged me to the right side of the stairs and kicked me down. I hit ten of the fourteen steps before landing at the bottom. With a final kick and some choice swear words, he slammed the front door and I never saw him again.” I sat up on the blanket and chose not to observe Bucky’s mortified face, “Mo, the man whose apartment makes the entryway smell like lemon cleaner? Bless his heart, he heard the commotion and called me an ambulance. I spent two days in the hospital before going home on Christmas morning to an apartment rid of all his things, and a door still off its hinges,” I added, “So I spent Christmas nursing a broken arm, three fractured ribs, concussion, and countless bruises. But, I drank a lot of excellent cheap whiskey that week, wore my favorite green socks, and watched Christmas movies, so it wasn’t all bad.” 

* * *

**Resume reading here!**

Bucky sat up, “Elle…” 

I put a hand on his knee, “The past couple of months have been good. I got some new plants, a new door, and I met you.” 

He met me with wistful eyes as I looked back to the lake, “I don’t know. It was like living in a dark, glass house where all the doors and windows were locked shut. And I couldn’t move or breathe afraid to break something. But breaking the glass was one of the best things I could’ve done. Apart from offering you some excellent cheap whiskey of course.” 

He smiled, taking my hand that was still on his knee, “Thank you for telling me.” 

I returned his content expression, “Hey, no more confessions for a while, okay?” 

Bucky’s smile grew and he brought my hand to his face, kissing my knuckles with his eyes closed, “Deal.” He held my hand against his mouth, breathing slowly, “I’m sorry.” 

I raised an eyebrow, “For what? I mean, it was my fault-” 

“Woah,” He dropped my arm but held onto my hand, “Let’s get something straight here-” 

“I just mean that I stayed when I shouldn’t have,” I fumbled with his fingers, “I made mistakes too,” 

“Elle,” He warned.

“I mean it!” 

Bucky squeezed my hand and paused, “None of it was your fault.” 

I paused at the use of my own words thrown back at me. We had a strange pattern of doing that. I sighed loudly deciding it best not to argue with him as my left arm twitched, phantom pains pulsing across the ugly scar.

“How long was your cast on?” He asked gently.

I smiled “Six and a half weeks. I had some fun at the diner when kids would ask what happened,” I leaned in closer to Bucky, “I alternated between telling a story of swashbuckling pirates and green aliens from Mars.” He cracked a smile at that. I continued to reminisce over some of the few good things that came from a broken arm, “Yeah, all the kids decorated it with stickers and silver sparkly signatures. It was a pretty great accessory for a while.” 

Bucky looked away at the lake and let go of my hand, “How do you do that?” 

“Do what? Make up an incredibly convincing story about space pirates-”

“No,” He looked back with a smile, “But that is fantastic.” His eyes landed amongst the tree line and gazed over the lake, “Just, how do you stay so positive?” His hands drifted together as he looked pensively at his metal arm. 

“Bucky,” I started, reaching out a hand.    
“You turned a terrible, terrible thing into something so cheerful and thrilling for others,” He shifted closer to me and glanced up with affectionate eyes. 

My chest started to tighten with that look, “Bucky,” I whispered. 

“It’s amazing, well, you’re amazing.” My voice caught in my throat as he inched closer. “Truly,” He breathed, our noses nearly touching. My bottom lip fell as I saw his eyes drop to them. His hand came up to my face after brushing a braid behind my shoulder. He rubbed his thumb across my cheekbone with an alluring touch and sucked his bottom lip, “Stunning.”

“Bucky?” 

His passionate eyes finally connected with mine and I drew in my breath, frozen from sweet, sweltering anticipation as he finally asked, “May I kiss you?” 

My eyes widened, and my answer tumbled out hastily, “Absolutely.” 

Bucky’s lips gently touched mine as he drew my face into his and both of our eyelids fluttered closed. 

_ Finally _ , I thought, his soft lips gently, tentatively dancing over mine. He pulled back briefly to read my expression, thumb still holding my cheek. I drew my tongue across my upper lip and Bucky narrowed his eyes, a low rumble rising in his throat, “Absolutely stunning.” 

He lunged forward, kissing me again with much more fervor. His hand on my face drifted to the back of my head and we gently fell back against the blanket. I arched my back, pressing my curves against his warm body and chest, wanting every inch of him. He responded charmingly by spreading his legs to get even closer, hungrily moving his lips over mine. I threw both arms behind his neck to stroke his silky dark hair. Subconsciously, I considered that his metal arm was motionless to the side. He broke our connection but quickly moved to my chin and jawline, peppering small kisses down and under my chin. I moaned softly into his forehead as he neared a sensitive spot under my chin. Bucky got there faster than I anticipated and an embarrassingly indecent whine escaped my lips. He chuckled wickedly into my neck, smiling and baring his teeth into my skin, clearly amused. It was thrilling with him lying on top of me, somehow feeling weightless under the pressure of his muscled form. And just as I expected him to return to the spot on my jaw that would reduce me to a squirming pile of pudding, the warmth and weight of his chest disappearing abruptly. 

I sat up calmly on my elbows, eyeing Bucky who had moved to the opposite end of the blanket, his back turned to me. He dropped his head into his hands, running fingers through his dark hair, clearly in turmoil. I chewed my lip unsurely, tasting the last bit of him on my lips. It was painful, watching him seemingly writhe in pain or misunderstanding, possibly brought on by me.

“Bucky?” I asked gently, knowing very well he had nowhere to run this time. 

His knees collapsed down to the blanket and he hung his head. I sat up completely, folding my legs underneath me. Exasperation was bubbling up in my stomach, but the longer I sat there, it just turned to confusion, and eventually simmered down into sadness. 

_ Maybe there’s someone else? _ I wondered,  _ Or an old flame from his past? Maybe I’m just too depressing,  _ I watched him take a deep breath and sigh slowly,  _ Come on Elle, be brave.  _

“Heeey,” I said, long and drawn out,  _ God what am I doing _ . I sighed, “Look, Bucky… Buckaroo”  _ Too far _ , “It’s okay, really, whatever… whatever’s going on. I mean, if there’s another girl-” 

“There’s no one else,” he interrupted, “There’s never been anyone else.” 

I blinked, grabbing onto one of my braids, and stared at the blanket, “Well, if you want something else,  _ someone _ else,” 

Bucky turned around suddenly with a deep scowl, “How could you possibly think that I don’t want  _ you _ ?” He spoke in a quieter voice, his eyes turning stormy, “It’s you who shouldn’t want  _ me _ .” 

I was certainly taken aback and gasped softly, noticing the clear skip in my heart rate. Bucky groaned and fell onto his back, covering his face. He wiped his face, “I’m sorry.” 

_ What the fuck?  _

I leaned over him with a quiet smile and raised an eyebrow, “You are one confusing guy, Bucky Barnes, you know that?” 

He met my eyes but quickly turned away, “ _ Please  _ don’t look at me like that.” 

I threw my head back and half groaned, half laughed, “Like what? This is just my face!” 

He rolled his head and eyes back to me, “Oh you know. Your long eyelashes and,” He sighed looking away, pulling his knees up, “Gorgeous green eyes.” 

I ripped my glasses from my face and rubbed my eyes, groaning dramatically. I fell down next to Bucky, leaning on my right elbow and staring at him pensively. He rolled over next to me with glassy, troubled eyes. Bucky shook his head slowly, “I’m sorry,” 

“Please stop apologizing,” I purred. He kept his eyes from me as I wondered what to do now. Do I spend more time on the mysterious Bucky Barnes, possibly pursuing more than a friendship? Or leave him at the entrance to the park, just another failed companionship, a familiar face at the diner? 

_He can’t even kiss me for more than a minute without breaking away._ _But he did somehow trust me enough to tell me his story._ I sighed outwardly, _And I trusted him enough to tell mine._

We laid on the blanket a while just looking up at the clouds. I really wanted to tangle my fingers in his hand or hair or anywhere really. 

I rolled over onto my side, rejecting the sensual thoughts in my head.

“I never got to ask, but what’d you think of Toy Story?” 

Bucky met my eyes, a small smile turning his lips, “It was adorable. Creative.” 

“Mmm,” I hummed, “It was my favorite movie as a kid.” 

“Yeah I really like Buzz,” Bucky said, looking up at the sky. I tried not to read into that too much, considering Buzz Lightyear was a brainwashed soldier in a seemingly brand new environment. 

I turned on my back and looked up at the sky like Bucky, “My favorite character doesn’t show up until the second film.” 

“There’s a second one!?” The surprise and excitement in his voice were rather invigorating, and the warm feeling in my stomach made my decision for me. 

“And a third,” I smiled slyly. 

He shook his head, “Man.” 

“Hey, Bucky?” I started innocently, “Do you wanna watch a movie?” 

He met my impish grin with a small smile that made me nearly self-combust. We packed up the blanket and various containers and started back down the path, but not before promising myself to be back sooner this time. 

Walking down the trail, my mind floated back to something that Bucky had said. 

_ How could you possibly think that I don’t want you? It’s you who shouldn’t want me. _

I didn’t get it. I was doing my best to try and show him that I genuinely cared about him and  _ wanted  _ him, but even then he pulled away. There was something I was missing, but I didn’t want to make him uncomfortable in any way. Pressing him further might make him more likely to run again, which I genuinely didn’t want. It was strange, the pull I felt towards him. Perhaps it was the night of the robbery? Or maybe it was my old habit of falling into the smooth guy trap. But  _ damn  _ was he a looker. Even under the cotton layers of gray and blue, I was undeniably attracted to him. My thoughts were pulled towards Bucky, but I couldn’t help and stop suddenly to watch a bluejay resting on a maple tree. We stopped again when I spotted a bluebird only fifty feet from the trail entrance.

“Bluebirds prefer to build their nests in big open fields so they can more easily avoid predators,” I whispered, watching the tiny sky bluebird sing on the top of the sign. 

“Brooklyn has a few nice pigeons,” Bucky murmured back. 

I gave him a look and playfully elbowed him, causing him to laugh. 

_ God that laugh is weakening.  _ I bit my lip and headed back to the start of the trail and eventually to my apartment. On the way back I started getting nervous and didn’t really say much.

_ Be yourself, relax, no sudden movements, be CALM. _ I was losing my mind.

Bucky was usually a pretty quiet person, but pleasantly surprised me when we passed Gigi’s Gelato across from the park. 

He lightly grabbed my left arm, just underneath my elbow, “What are those red flowers?” Bucky gestured towards the window boxes underneath the large window. I had known Gigi for years, considering my family had been going there for years. She was also an avid gardener, and always had the prettiest displays in the window box outside of her store. 

“Petunias.” I smiled delicately, naturally leaning into his shoulder, “The little white ones are alyssum and the silvery leaves are dusty millers.” My heart rate escalated at my involuntary movement.

Bucky eyed me, “You’re a real expert, huh?” His hand trickled down my arm over my scar and into my hand.

I shrugged unsurely, smiling to myself at his small but incredibly meaningful gesture, “Just an avid enthusiast, really.” 

“Mmm,” He hummed unconvincingly. 

_ He’s holding my hand in public ohmygod. _

Bucky asked about the begonias and black-eyed susans in front of the building too, which warmed and stressed my heart even further. 

“Di and I plant the flowers every spring,” I said, putting the second key into my blue apartment door, and pushing it open, “Last year was red geraniums and some really pretty coleus,” I smiled bigger as he walked over the exterior mat that joyously read HEY GOOD LOOKIN’, “I think next year we might do some different colored coleus with a matching peony.” I tossed my keys and headed to the kitchen as I continued to think out loud, “Or maybe marigolds, considering they do well in the sun,” I unpacked the lunch bag as Bucky walked over to the counter, “But a purple pansy might be nice too, I don’t know, we’ll probably change our minds twenty times over before making a final decision.” 

Bucky leaned over the counter looking up at me with his head on his hand, “I think I could listen to you talk forever,” I turned over my shoulder to see a dreamy look on his face. 

I sighed, turning back to the sink, “Well, you’d be the first.” 

“But how?” He asked with hints of hostility in his tone. 

I wasn’t really in the mood to have this conversation again, so I just shrugged simply. 

“Come on, Elle,” Bucky chided, “Your stories are fascinating and your voice is elegant and melodious.” 

I blew air out through my lips,  _ He is  _ so  _ confusing.  _ I turned around after placing everything in the dishrack. Both of my elbows hit the table so I met him at eye level. I couldn’t help but think back to Jesse’s absolute disinterest in all of my favorite things and stories. Another sigh ultimately fell from my lips, “Not everyone likes flowers, I guess.” 

Bucky narrowed his eyes, unbelievably unconvinced, “Nah, it’s more than that. It’s not always the subject of the story, but the details and your enthusiasm,” The dreamy look returned to his eyes, “You just fascinate me, I guess.” 

I narrowed my eyes back and pressed my lips together, but eventually dropped my gaze, “Coffee?” I asked, standing up from the counter. 

He sighed loudly, allegedly dropping the topic for the time being. I tended to the kettle and french press, filling it with water and coffee grounds respectively. 

“So how do you know so much about flowers and gardening?” 

I slid him one of the faded green mugs before I walked over to the bookshelf, “My Mom and I used to work in our yard a lot,” Leaning down, I picked out two oversized faux-leather binders, “We’d tend to the rose bushes and sunflowers every morning in the summer,” I dropped the two books in front of Bucky on the counter, “And our whole house was filled with lots of little plants,” I sat down at the stool and leaned over on the counter as I pictured our big blue farmhouse, “Every room had some little touch of green. And we had a garden out back with blueberries and strawberries, tomatoes and carrots, even onions!” I paused, looking at the matching green clay mugs my parents used to drink out of every day, “But my Dad was the real outdoorsman. In his last summer, I had to do this pretty cool school project collecting flowers and trees. We did countless hiking trips here in Oakville and even spent a few days down in the Allegheny forest looking for this one tree,” I smiled nostalgically, “It was one of the best things we ever did together,” My finger traced the gold lining of the navy blue binder proudly labeled ‘Flowers of The Northeast’, “It’s a way of staying close to both of them really.” I met Bucky’s half-smirk and amused eyes and quickly darted away to finish making the coffee, “Then again, flowers are pretty!” I backtracked. 

He thankfully ignored my reversal, “I bet Oakville in Autumn is beautiful.” I watched him furrow his brow, deep in thought, “I think Autumn’s my favorite season.” He didn’t sound convinced as a thought hit me.

_ Would he be here in the Fall? _ City Hall was scheduled to open, on September 2nd, to the entire town’s excitement. Would he stay after it was finished?  _ No,  _ I told myself,  _ He’s probably going to move on. He has to move on. Another town, another job… another girl? _

“Elle?” 

“Hi!” My voice was louder than intended and I quickly adjusted, “Yeah, Oakville’s pretty in Fall. It’s my favorite season too.” I poured the boiling water over the coffee grounds and set the french press on the counter. 

“You get lost in thought a lot,” Bucky proposed as I sat down at the counter, “What are you thinking about?” He leaned over on his elbow with a raised eyebrow and coy smirk.

_ I could ask you the same question, _ I thought. 

“Actually, how is Autumn your favorite season when Spring is gardening season?” 

I smiled, “There’s always this feeling that comes with Autumn that’s really special,” I leaned over my crossed arms, biting back a smile, “I just really like being bundled up in a fuzzy sweatshirt with crisp, colorful leaves underfoot as the wind brings a little chill. But not too much chill,” I emphasized, “I don’t know, everything’s different in Fall, with spices and soup - My mom used to make the best chili -” The smile I had been holding back came out in full force, “And pumpkins, football, apples, it’s just the embodiment of warmth.” I looked up to see Bucky smiling wide underneath his hat and a warmth came over my cheeks, “Sorry, I tend to ramble when I get excited.” 

“I’ve noticed,” He said kindly in a rich, warm tone, “But I like it.” He turned his head a bit to the side, joy radiating from his eyes. 

“So,” I adjusted my glasses, “What’s your favorite part of Autumn?” 

The joy he was exuding evaporated instantly and a shadow passed over his face, his eyes turning glassy and lifeless as they fell to the ground. The moment lasted uncomfortably long as I watched his bottom lip tremble and worry started setting in, coming up from my toes. 

“Bucky?” I barely whispered, reaching out a hand across the counter. 

He came back to me with a start, looking up and away suddenly, “Sorry,” he breathed, rubbing his forehead. I leaned farther over the counter as my heart rate continued to rise. His chest was heaving as he adjusted his baseball cap. 

I slid my hand a little closer to him still, “Bucky? Can I-” 

He put his hand on the counter, stopping me, “I’m sorry,” Bucky finally met my eyes with wide, terrified stormy blue orbs, “Can I use your bathroom?” 

I blinked twice, trying to understand what had just happened, “Yeah of course-” 

“Thank you.” He stood and disappeared quickly from view. 

My mind was seemingly blank as I finally caught my breath. I rubbed the back of my neck with both hands, staring down at the countertop. 

_ Something about Autumn? _ I wondered. I poured myself a cup of coffee and stood up to reconcile. My attention was caught by the bud on the Christmas cactus that had finally bloomed. I walked over to the plant on the built-in desk next to the long window. The leaves of the plant were fat with water, and the many-petaled flower looked gorgeous against the green backdrop of the rest of the plant. My index finger just brushed the tip of one of the bright pink petals.

A truck rushing past on the street below took my concentration and I looked out the window. More clouds had rolled in during the short time we were in my apartment and it looked like a storm was brewing in the distance. I pressed the mug to my lips and blew across the top of the hot coffee. My toes in the orange socks I was wearing rubbed together nervously as I waited for Bucky to return. I raised my hand to my mouth looking to bite on my thumbnail, only to find the navy blue polish was in my way. My hand and the horrible habit I was trying to curb lingered around my teeth, terror seeping into my skin. 

_ What did I do? _

“Hey.” 

I whirled around at the hoarse voice behind me. Bucky’s hands were shoved into his pants pockets and his hat was pulled low over his face. 

“Hey,” I whispered in return. 

He rubbed the back of his neck uncertainly, “I’m sorry, I forgot I have to do something. Right now.” I didn’t say anything and just tried searching his face for answers. “But, I’ll be back in an hour or two.” 

I hesitated at his cryptic words, “Okay.” I took a step forward, “Do you need anything?” 

“No,” his hand moved to his mouth, “No, I just need to take care of something.” 

“Okay,” I said again, apologetically. “I’ll fix dinner in the meantime.”

At last, he met my eyes, “You’re sweet.” 

“Seven knocks so I know it's you?” I chewed on my bottom lip.

A flicker of a smile crossed his face before looking away again, “I’ll be back soon.” And with a quiet click of the door, I was left standing alone in my apartment again. 

I put my coffee mug down on the counter and slipped to the ground. 

“What is  _ wrong  _ with me,” I roared out loud, holding my knees to my chest. I was in completely uncharted territory as I tried to navigate this new friendship- relationship, whatever.

_ He was a prisoner for seventy years. A prisoner in his own mind.  _ With all the torture and pain he had been through, he was lucky to just be here. Part of me wanted to ask him hundreds of questions and really get to know him, but more of me wanted to just be there to be a friendly face or general comfort. I stood up slowly and walked over to the door, pushing the locks closed. 

I pressed my forehead to the door. “Please come back,” I whispered. 

I dragged myself back to the kitchen to figure out a dinner plan. Bucky’s untouched coffee mug still sat on the countertop, staring back at me. 

I groaned down into the counter, still annoyed with myself. 

_ Come on Elle, spaghetti and meatballs aren’t going to cook themselves.  _ I occupied myself and my hands with the food mill, grinding tomatoes still going over things in my mind. Some diced onions, minced garlic, and a pile of spices later, the Graham family tomato sauce was simmering nicely on the stove. The smell alone was incredibly comforting. That and the 80s powers ballads that were playing in the background. There was something so amusing about playing the air guitar alongside Queen and emphatically mouthing the lyrics to Bohemian Rhapsody while handling ground turkey. 

A shower and fully cooked dinner later, I sat on the couch tapping my foot nervously in a black and bleach tie-dye t-shirt, gray cardigan sweater, and jogger pants. The cream wool socks were a cozy touch too. I checked my leather watch for the hundredth time, still 5:46. Okay, it was only a little over two hours, but he’d be back, right? He said he would be back,  _ and he called me sweet. _ I ran my fingers through my damp ponytail and sighed loudly. Was there anything else that needed to be done? Dinner was still warming on the stove, the white chardonnay was on the counter after chilling for a while, fresh romano cheese, DVDs on the coffee table… “Garlic bread!” I tripped over my feet running to the kitchen, “Oh thank god the oven’s still on.” Also lucky, I still had the semi-fancy Italian bread from the market and hastily tucked it and butter spread on before shoving it into the oven. I tapped my fingers on the counter, nervously watching the door. I turned back to the sink and looked at the basil and oregano plants that were happily growing on the windowsill. They smiled back at me joyfully. I walked around the counter again trying to pass the time. My nerves were off the wall as I paced around the counter rubbing my hands together. 

_ Maybe he’ll get here before the bread is done!  _ I thought optimistically. The beeping buzzer determined otherwise. I groaned myself over to the oven and checked the bread. The toast wasn’t quite done so I left it in a bit longer. My eyes wandered back over to the door as I leaned over on the counter. 

“God, what the fuck am I doing?” I moaned into my hands. What was I thinking? Having this big plan that some tall, handsome man would walk into the diner and sweep me off my feet after everything that’s happened? 

_ Well, technically he did that one night _ … I shook away the thought,  _ And he told me he wanted me…  _ “No!” I shouted to myself, banging my hands on the counter, “This. Can’t…”

The oven beeped again. I took a deep breath and regained my composure. I took the cooked bread out of the oven and set it next to the pot of sauce, spaghetti, and meatballs. Another groan came out again and I figured it wasn’t even worth waiting anymore. It was past 6:00 now and he probably wasn’t coming. I eyed the two navy bowls I had waiting on the countertop and ignored them, heading to the cupboard for a wine glass. 

But then there was a knock at the door.

“... _ two, three, four, five, six, seven,”  _ I counted in my head. My heart fluttered uncontrollably and I held back a squeal with my hand. I nearly tripped on my slippery socks heading for the door. With my hands on the locks, I tried to calm my breathing and the smile on my lips. 

I excitedly flung the door open to a crestfallen Bucky Barnes. He was in clean navy sweatpants and a sweatshirt, his hat was pulled over his tired, bloodshot eyes. His dark backpack worried me for a moment, but I was more concerned with his overall demeanor.

“Hey,” Bucky breathed, a firm grip on the shoulder strap. He looked unbelievably nervous, like the night he told me about his past. 

“Hi,” I frowned, pulling the door open a little further so he could step in, “Come in.” Bucky stepped in as I locked the door behind him. 

“Wow,” He announced, stepping in further, “It smells  _ incredible _ in here.” I walked around behind him, trying to catch a glimpse at his face. 

My eyebrows furrowed further as he turned away to hide his face, “Bucky?” 

“Yeah?” he asked nonchalantly, continuing to protect his face with his hat. 

“Are you okay?” I stepped closer to him. 

Bucky stood still in the center of the room, his eyes trained downward, “Yeah,” He looked up with a forced smile, “Yeah, um, things just took a little while longer than expected, that’s all.” 

_ How is he such a terrible liar?  _ I thought to myself. 

“I’m sorry I’m late,” He murmured. 

I held my crossed hands out in front of me and narrowed my eyes, “No worries,” I mumbled, walking back over to the kitchen. I tried to ignore the cute smirk that turned up the right side of his lip but somehow it still warmed my chest. 

“Spaghetti and meatballs okay?” I asked, reaching for the bowls. 

“Sounds incredible,” He breathed. Bucky set his backpack down behind the couch and set his hat and gloves on top.“Hey, can I talk to you about something?” He asked pensively. 

_ That’s great. What a girl always wants to hear.  _ “Oh, yeah sure.” I looked back to see him sitting on his stool staring down at his hands. I leaned over with a raised eyebrow as he nervously looked up at me, “Is this a wine, whiskey, or coffee conversation?” 

He looked away with a wide smirk, “You know you could kill with those eyes.” 

I ignored the compliment, sitting down across from him, leaning on my elbow, “So what’s on your mind?” 

Bucky swallowed uncomfortably and bit his lip. His eyes were glued to the floor as he took a deep breath, “Look, about this afternoon,” He hung his head, “I shouldn’t have just-” Bucky stopped to run a hand through his hair while I waited. He took another deep breath, “You see, sometimes,” and he stopped again, “I am so sorry.” Bucky shook his head and rubbed his eyes, hiding the unwilling smile on his face. 

“Bucky?” I shifted from one elbow to the other

“Yeah?” He looked up unsurely. 

“You don’t have to do this,” I commented. He blinked slowly as I took up both of his hands, “Also the garlic bread’s probably getting cold.” Bucky chuckled at me as I squeezed his hands, “You don’t have to be so worried. I trust you, Bucky Barnes.” 

His smile crumpled as he stared at me with sad eyes, “Yeah but why?” 

I sighed into a smile, “I don’t know. Maybe I like you or something.” He gave me a chastising look as I strummed my fingers on his hands, “Come on, Buster. Let’s eat.” I reluctantly let go of his hands to finish plating dinner. I shoveled two piles of spaghetti and meatballs and garlic bread into the two bowls and turned to see Bucky leaning next to the sink. 

“What?” I queried. 

His eyes still looked sad and forlorn, “You’re too nice to me.” 

I shoved a bowl into his hands, “Fresh romano?” 

“Elle!” 

“I think I have parmesan too if you’d prefer that-” 

He set his bowl down on the counter, “Come on, Elle I mean it.” His slightly furrowed brow and pouty lip made me want to wrap him in a ginormous hug and never let go. 

I set my bowl down on the counter too and stuck my hand on my hip, “Bucky-”

“No, I mean it,” He took a step forward. I felt my heart tremble as he drew closer, “Look, I just don’t get it.” Bucky looked down. 

“Hey,” I put a hand on his arm, “As I said before,” I leaned in a few inches from his face just as his eyes dropped to my lips for a split second, “Maybe I like you or something.” 

I gotta say, Bucky never saw Stinky Pete’s bad side coming. I mean, you would have thought that the action figure had actually wronged him in some way. But it was even better in the third one with the garbage inferno. I genuinely thought he was going to drop a tear or two. I also thought he might try and grab my hand or shoulder at some point, but I wasn’t that lucky. And Bucky did the same stupid sweet thing with the dishes and refused to even let me get up from the couch. 

“If you cook the best dinner ever, then you have to let me wash the dishes,” Bucky complained as he sat back down on the couch next to me, “Really, that was one of the best meals I have ever had,” He put his arm across the couch cushions as he sat facing me. 

“Aw well thanks,” I shrugged, “It’s just some tomatoes and spices a whole lotta-” I stopped myself before ending the quote. 

“What?” Bucky asked, shifting a little closer. 

I fiddled with my ring, “Nothing, I-” A smile made its way to my face, “Just something my mom used to say with every recipe. Sometimes it was butter and flour, other times cinnamon and sugar, and always a whole lotta love.” I leaned my head back against the couch cushion and pulled the yellow blanket closer around me. I heard her sweet voice in my head after walking off the bus on a Friday afternoon in October. “ _ Elle! I’ve got a bowl of tomatoes, basil, and a whole lotta love waiting for you _ !” I smiled even bigger thinking of her voice and our simpler memories. We’d sit and eat bowls of soup, talking about our days and making fabulous weekend plans which usually included something with pumpkins, corn mazes, and apple cider. 

“The store windows,” Bucky said quietly. He was looking down at his hands again. 

I turned towards him, “What?” 

He met my eyes only for a second then looked back to his hands, “They’d always do up the store windows for Fall in the streets of Brooklyn with pumpkins and corn and hay and stuff. It was great walking down the misty sidewalks with a few falling leaves here and there with a nice chill in the air,” He leaned closer, “But not too much chill. And there would always be these flowers with tiny petals in the warmest colors with the most luscious, earthy smells that would fill the air and it was always,” He took another short breath, “Great.” 

Somehow every word was pained, but still contained a small pinch of nostalgic happiness. My mouth hung open as I beamed at him. Bucky swallowed hard and gradually met my eyes. 

“Autumn,” He breathed, twiddling his thumbs, “Earlier you asked about-” 

“I know,” I whispered back, “Thank you for telling me.” The corners of his lips twitched for a moment as we sat in silence for a few minutes. “Chrysanthemums,” I eventually said. 

Bucky looked up at me.

“The flowers with all the little petals,” I said wistfully, “They’re chrysanthemums.” I looked down at my hands too, “We used to put them out on the front steps with jack-o’-lanterns and corn stalks.” 

Bucky leaned against the cushions and studied me carefully. I met his melancholy eyes and gave him a small smile. He turned away slowly, facing the coffee table again. I had no idea what in the world to do or say as I put my feet up on the table. 

_ What am I doing?  _ I thought to myself, _ What is  _ he  _ doing?  _ What in the world was happening? I had just made a full dinner and watched two animated movies with an army veteran and former assassin. That thing from earlier was clearly still bothering him.

_ Cool,  _ I contemplated, fiddling with my ring, _The f_ _ irst guy I like in months and he’s confusing the absolute hell out of me. _

“Hey, Elle?” Bucky started, rubbing his hands again, “About earlier today-” 

“Bucky-”

“I can’t remember certain things,” He said suddenly, a hint of misery passing over his face. I didn’t say anything, trying to figure out what to do with that information. 

He sighed harshly, separating his hands, “It’s weird, I mean, it’s a timeline with missing gaps and information. And some things are vague like the escape in Austria and falling…” His voice grew quiet. I wanted to take his hand or hug him or something, but I didn’t say or do anything. “But other things are so clear,” He paused again, “Everything  _ after  _ the war…” Bucky shook his head, “But some stuff just isn’t there. Like the name of the street I grew up on or people’s birthdays, memories of Steve, or  _ my own Mother's name _ ,” He balled his fists and hung his head as I tried to deny the water blurring my vision, “But some things are coming back. Slowly. It’s weird, how just out of the blue a thought or memory will come back after seeing something familiar or just hearing one word.”

_ Like Autumn,  _ I thought. 

“So,” Bucky laughed painfully, “I keep these notebooks that are just full of details and memories,” He bit his lip, “So I don’t forget again.” 

A tear rolled from my left eye and I prayed Bucky couldn’t see. He wasn’t just a former prisoner of his own mind, but he  _ still was. _ The effects of having his memory wiped over and over again were still incredibly present, and there was nothing I could do. 

“I’m sorry,” He breathed, wiping his hands on his face.    
“For what?” I blurted unconsciously. 

He shook his head, “I don’t know, for everything? For leaving and for burdening-”

“Burdening?” He looked up at me, “ _ Burdening?! _ You are not burdening me by talking about your life!” 

“But-”

“No!” I turned to him, folding my legs under me. “Bucky,” I started, not having the slightest idea of what to say. He looked away so I sighed, turning away, trying to find the right words to explain what I was feeling and thinking. He leaned over and brushed the tear from my cheek with his thumb. And even with him lingering near my skin I felt my insides turning from guilt.

“I don’t want to hurt you anymore,” He lamented. 

“Any more?” I challenged, meeting his sleepy eyes, “Bucky, you’ve never hurt me.” He rubbed my cheek gently as I bit my lip. I met his hand with my own, rubbing the back of his palm. 

“I think I should go,” He whispered, still staring at my cheek. 

“Bucky,”

He angled his head to the side, “I don’t want to trouble you-” 

“You’re not troubling me, Bucky Barnes,” I said quietly. 

He shook his head with a low chuckle, “I’m nothing but trouble,” Bucky slipped his hand away from me and put it in his lap. 

I studied him sadly, trying to figure out how to convince him of how much he mattered. 

“Bucky,” I cooed, scooching closer to him. 

He didn’t move farther away, but shook his head vehemently, “Elle, I don’t want to be this depressing mess for you.” 

I chuckled a little, “I’ve been a depressed mess for the past four years,” I caressed his left shoulder underneath his sweatshirt, “Besides, you make me happy.” The top of his shoulder was soothing though it was completely metal. 

“Elle, you don’t have to lie,” Bucky turned his head away.

“Are you kidding me?” Bucky’s eyes were big blue saucers as I continued and drew my other hand over his arm, “Bucky how much fun did we have last weekend? Or at the lake today? Even if we did just sit on a picnic blanket for two hours. Besides,” My voice grew quiet, “I’ve become a little choosy with who I spend time with over the past few months.” Bucky glanced back to me with a little bit less sadness in his eyes. 

“You make me happy too,” He whispered under a trembling lip, not meeting my eyes. I wrapped my left hand around his and leaned into his shoulder. 

_ Who is this guy? _ I wondered to myself. 

“You know, if you want me to go-” Bucky started in a joking tone. 

“Stop it!” I whined, smiling up at him. He chuckled too, sliding both of his arms around me, pulling me into his chest. Bucky exhaled carefully as he laid his head on top of mine. I closed my eyes and returned the hug, enjoying the sweet moment, “You’re always welcome here.” 

He rubbed my far arm in return, “I don’t think you know how wonderful you are.” 

“Yeah?” I stroked his chest, inadvertently feeling his abs, “Well you clearly don’t either.” 

He smiled into my hair, shaking his head, “Not really, you are different from anyone I’ve ever met. 

“And you have one of the biggest hearts in the world.” I yawned, snuggling deeper into him so I could feel his heartbeat. 

He pulled me in a little closer, “It is getting late, Elle, I should probably get going.” Bucky leaving was the absolute last thing I wanted, so I didn’t say anything. We stayed on the couch a little longer, just enjoying each other. I had never felt so comfortable with another person before, which probably should have scared me, but I really just wanted to go with it. Despite his past, he made me feel safe, warm, and peaceful. So much so that I started to drift off. 

“Spend the night,” I whispered into his chest, drawing my nails lightly across his back.

Bucky shivered and smiled at my gesture. “I do love your couch,” He hummed.

“No,” I breathed, lifting my head, “Come to bed with me,” I grazed his cheek with my hand. 

“Elle-” 

“No pressure. No expectations.” I leaned up and laid a kiss on his strong jawline, “I just want to hold you.” 

Bucky didn’t say anything at first but rubbed my shoulder gingerly with his right hand. He kissed the top of my hair sweetly and somehow my heart grew even warmer.

“You drive a hard bargain,” He murmured into my hair. 

I chuckled into his chest, “Come on Buster.” I stood up from the couch and held out my hands. Bucky gave me a half-smile and slid his right hand into mine as he got to his feet. I put my chin on his chest and stared up at him looking down at me, hoping he would just kiss me. But instead, he asked a silly question.

“Why are you doing this?” He breathed.

I smiled coyly and looked down at his other hand, “I don’t know.” When my fingers connected with his metal ones he jerked back a moment, but I held onto both of his hands, “Maybe I like you or something.” Bucky chuckle-sighed as I squeezed both of his hands. “Go on,” I gestured to the open french doors, “I’ll meet you in there after I pack up the leftovers.” 

Bucky chewed his lip before bringing both of my hands to his lips and kissing them tenderly, “Have I told you that you make me nervous?” 

I rolled my eyes jokingly as he laughed at me. He dropped my hands and I headed to the kitchen. I spooned the sauce, spaghetti, and meatballs into a plastic container and clicked the red lid on top sliding it onto the top shelf in the refrigerator. 

_ Maybe waffles tomorrow, _ I considered, looking at the contents of the fridge,  _ Or blueberry muffins _ . I doused the pot in soap and left it in the sink to soak overnight. All of the other dishes and trays were drying in the rack and I leaned over the sink staring up at the moon. It was a perfectly clear night and the stars were rather radiant. In fact, they had never looked brighter on this Saturday evening. 

_ I should grow some moonflowers, _ I thought, staring up at the brilliant orb in the sky,  _ But where would I put them?  _ All the windowsills were already full of plants and the white morning glories would only bloom in the moonlight. I flicked the switch for the light over the counter, bathing the apartment into darkness. Streams of moonlight fell through the window as I slid over to the french doors in my socks. My heart was beating faster than normal for obvious reasons as I pushed open the one french door a little further. Bucky’s sweatshirt was folded adorably on the turquoise ottoman at the end of the bed and the sight of that made my smile twitch upwards even further. Bucky, however, was sitting on the left side of the bed looking down at his feet and folded hands. He was still in a white t-shirt and light from the dim lamp glinted off his arm. 

“Hey,” I said faintly. 

Bucky stood up suddenly, “Hi,” He said quiveringly, holding his clasped hands in front of him. I smiled back at his frightened form, dragging my feet across the gray carpet towards the lamp. 

“Sheets aren’t going to bite,” I teased moving closer to the nightstand, removing my glasses.

Bucky smiled finally, “I know,” He breathed. 

“And I won’t either,” I whispered as I finally clicked the lamp off  _ Unless if you want me to,  _ I thought.  _ Ohmygod no,  _ I shook away the fantasy,  _ Not tonight. Not now. _

I pulled back the light blue comforter and we both slid on top of the darker blue dotted sheets. Both of us naturally rolled towards each other, our noses barely a foot apart. I suddenly became very aware of my arms, which I had no idea what to do with at the moment. So, I opted to pretend to be smooth, like I usually did. 

“Hi,” I chuckled, biting the sides of my cheeks to keep from combusting. 

Bucky returned a deep laugh, the crinkles by his eyes deepening as he smiled, “Hi,” He whispered. His low chuckle nearly made my chest burst, he was so sexy without even trying. It made me happy to think that even though the last seventy-some years might have been horrific, torturous, and excruciatingly painful, offering Bucky even the smallest shred of pleasure was absolutely worth it. Bucky’s eyes were brightened by the faint moonlight, and he never looked more at peace. He looked away for a moment and my eyes hung on his lips. My mind drifted back to the night in the kitchen and the afternoon on the blanket. I had experienced the strange feeling at the bottom of my lungs around my ribs before, but it was different with Bucky. Where before the excitement was contained and constricted, this was struggling to escape throughout my entire body. When Bucky met my eyes again, I quickly darted away from his lips. 

His voice was small and uncertain when he spoke, “Can I kiss you goodnight?”

My face softened into a modest smile. He was so  _ respectful  _ and  _ kind _ and unlike any other person I had ever met.

“No,” I whispered simply. Bucky’s eyes widened and for a moment and his face showed nothing but absolute panic. “But I think it’s high time I kissed you.” 

I plunged myself forward with closed eyes, gently pressing my lips to his. Bucky’s entire body froze briefly as I continued to draw his lips to mine. It was a small gesture that seemingly felt like so much more. I pulled away slowly, holding his forehead to mine

I kept my eyes shut as Bucky tried to speak. “Elle-” He begged hoarsely. 

“Shh,” I brought my left hand up to his face, touching the corner of his lips with my thumb. My eyes fluttered open slowly to see his icy blue eyes warm with tenderness, “No more talking tonight.”

I closed my eyes to kiss him again, but Bucky met me halfway. Our foreheads stayed pressed together as he returned the gentle gesture. His right arm surprised the small of my back, pulling me closer to him so our forms fit together like two broken pieces. I stifled a groan into his lips as my body finally touched his. Bucky continued, grazing my back with his fingertips slowly, running his hand up the grooves in my spine so his hand tickled the back of my neck. Even through my t-shirt, the sensation was unbearably breathtaking and I shivered closer to him, my mouth opening for a moment to let the moan escape my throat. Bucky lost no time as he sucked on my bottom lip. I drove my other lip back to his and ran a hand through his soft hair. We both had to break away to breathe again, but Bucky didn’t flee this time. He untucked his other arm from beneath the pillow and slipped it to the small of my back, holding me against him. Bucky’s breathing seemed uncertain and I opened my eyes tentatively to see him looking back at me. 

“Goodnight, Bucky,” I managed softly with a smile. Bucky reciprocated the smile, his eyes never looking better in the moonlight. I snuggled down into his neck and brought my other arm around him. 

“Goodnight, Elle.” When he spoke, the bristles of his beard tickled my forehead. Finally, he pressed a familiar, dreamy kiss to my forehead that this time, I knew was real. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This story has been a lot of fun to write, especially crafting a whole cast of characters and designing a town. I hope you are enjoying it!! Thank you for reading!!!


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> More weekend shenanigans as Elle and Bucky continue to grow closer.

Sunday, May 11

We woke up in a tangled mess of limbs. It was invigorating to still have his arms wrapped around me in the morning. I smiled against his warm chest, still feeling residual butterflies from last night and all of yesterday. 

“Morning,” Bucky said, muffled through my hair. 

I laughed teasingly, “Good morning, prince.” He chuckled back and squeezed me close to him, kissing my forehead again as my fingers tickled the hair on the back of his head. I hummed into his neck, smiling even wider, “How do you feel about blueberry muffins?” 

Bucky spoke so his lips brushed against my forehead, “If they’re as good as everything else you make? Amazing.” I twirled a piece of his hair around my finger and couldn’t stop from smiling. His breathing seemed relaxed and unusually calm, which I wasn’t quite used to. Part of me really wanted to just stay in bed for the rest of Sunday, which I have certainly done in the past. I slowly pulled myself away from him, sliding over the sheets and out from under the comforter. 

“I’ll meet you there,” Bucky whispered, his eyes still closed. I smiled, looking back at him, still lingering on the edge of the bed. 

“Mmk,” I whispered. 

My mom always used to say that cooking was chemistry in the kitchen and when it came to chemistry, I was a whiz. I pulled down my floral apron, redid my ponytail, and got to work. Flour, butter, and blueberries were soon flying, and I mixed everything by hand, the old-fashioned way. There was something more intimate about mixing the ingredients together in a silver mixing bowl and a wooden spoon. 

“Blueberries, butter, and a whole lotta love,” I told myself, pouring the batter into a twelve-cup muffin tin. Once the pan was finally in the oven, I turned around to a sleepy Bucky standing near the edge of the counter. 

“Hey Buster,” I stepped back, taking off the oven mitts. He looked up and met my eyes, sucking on his upper lip. I moved towards him, sliding in socks. 

“Thank you,” He managed quietly. 

I looked down at him with a raised eyebrow, shifting my weight to one side, “For what?” 

“You know,” Bucky studied the counter, “For letting me spend the night.” 

“Bucky…” I exhaled tentatively, sliding down on the counter, “You don’t have to thank me every time you sleep over.” 

He rolled his eyes at me, a half-smile turning on his lips. “Maybe. But I feel like I should.” 

I took up both his hands, “You’re welcome, and you’re welcome here.” It was strange how different his eyes looked this morning compared to others. They were the same tired blue that I adored, of course, but as his breathing earlier, they were softer and calmer. It was as though something had changed, though I couldn’t tell exactly what it was. 

“So,” I stood up from the counter and pulled two clean mugs from the drying rack. “How’d you sleep?”  _ Is that too obvious? I hope that’s not too obvious. _

Bucky narrowed his eyes at me suspiciously, “How’d  _ you _ sleep?”

I poured fresh coffee into both mugs and casually slid one across the counter, which Bucky caught easily. “I asked first.” I offered plainly. 

We both sat at our respective stools and stared at each other. Bucky looked down at his mug holding back an expression I couldn’t quite read.

“Well,” He traced a finger around the lip of the mug thoughtfully, “Exceptionally.” I stilled at his choice of words, watching him carefully as my heart rate started to escalate. “In fact,” He continued, “Probably the best in a while.” Bucky met my eyes as he took a sip of coffee, and my heart fluttered even further. 

I swallowed my nerves, “Yeah?” 

“Yeah,” He set his mug back down, “I mean, no nightmares is always a good thing, right?” 

_ Nightmares? _

_ Nightmares…  _

I didn't even want to imagine what his visions must have been like. After everything that I’ve been through I had some pretty awful dreams myself, but Bucky’s had to have been on a different level. 

I swallowed my nerves and swallowed a gulp of scalding coffee, “Yeah I suppose.” 

Bucky leaned over on the counter with curious eyes, “And how’d you sleep?” 

My fingers curled around the texture of the mug as I considered his question, forcing myself from my thoughts. “Exceptionally.” He raised an eyebrow at me as I continued, “And no nightmares is  _ always  _ a good thing.”

Bucky chuckled low in his throat, looking at me pensively as he turned his head to one side. 

I returned the raised eyebrow, “I didn't say anything ridiculous this time around, did I?” 

“Hmm,” He hummed quietly, drumming fingers on the counter, “Not this time around.” 

We sat in silence, as I analyzed Bucky’s words and appearance. It was  _ unfair _ how much his messy bedhead and slightly unkempt facial hair made me want to surrender to every whim and fantasy banging around in my brain. I leaned over on one elbow and just gazed over at him. My pleasant daydreams were interrupted by the oven timer going off. Reluctantly, I removed myself from the stool and turned the muffin tin on the oven rack. 

“ _ A golden brown top means it’s perfect. _ ” My Mom’s voice resounded in my head as I sat back down, slipping off a faded white oven mitt, dotted with whisks and rolling pins. 

“So where’d you learn to cook?” Bucky asked, spiking an interesting conversation. 

I smiled, “How much time you got?” 

“Funny, I don’t have any plans today,” He pressed the mug to his lips. 

I repositioned myself on the stool, crossing one leg over the other. “So I assume you want the long version of the story?” 

Bucky grinned, “With you? Always.” 

A faint blush warmed my cheeks at his meaningful compliment. “Well, it started with the Alpha-Bakery Gold Medal Cookbook I got from a cereal box when I was a kid,” I chuckled suddenly “I saved up a dozen box tops over like two months because it was a  _ free  _ book and it looked kinda fun.” 

Bucky bit back a smile, maybe even a laugh for my own sake as I hastily continued, “Anyway, it came in the mail four to six weeks later, and I was kinda obsessed with it. Bright pictures and nice drawings, I read it every night before bed.” Bucky shifted his head over to the other side, still listening carefully. “My mom got tired of me just carrying the thing around and agreed to help me make a recipe. We were going to make Honey Bee cookies, perfect for springtime in the garden, with honey, cinnamon, and a whole lotta love.” 

“I bet they were fantastic,” Bucky gushed quietly. 

I smiled down into my mug, “Not quite. The dough turned out fine, we got it on the tray and ready to go but I…” I shook my head, laughing at my childish awkwardness that had unfortunately followed me into adulthood. “I burned my hand and dropped the tray.” 

“What?” 

I rubbed my forehead remembering the absolute commotion of the day, “I was screaming and crying, the kitchen was a mess, and that was my first time cooking.” 

He shook his head, smiling slightly, “You have the best stories.” 

“Yeah, well I was afraid to go near the oven for like a year after that. Until,” I held up a finger, “My Dad finally made me face his fears when he volunteered me to help with a pie.”

“Ah,” Bucky scratched his chin, “Is this your father’s secret pie recipe?” 

I smiled fondly, “Yes, indeed.” I recounted how we rolled out the dough and cut up the fruit, and he handled the oven part. 

“Once I was over my fears, I started cooking more regularly with my mom, and she pretty much taught me everything I know.” Bucky looked back at me charmingly. “I did manage to get a momento from that first cooking experience though.” I held out the side of my left wrist revealing the two-inch, shiny pink scar as he glanced down. 

Bucky started to reach his own hand out, “Are you in the habit of burning your hands?” My skin tingled as he stretched his fingers around my wrist, remembering the first night we met. 

I smiled gingerly, “Occupational hazard?” 

He hummed unconvincingly, rubbing his thumb across my hand while his fingers curved underneath. I had slept next to him the night before, but feeling his skin again granted me a heightened level of excitement that made my stomach start to turn in somersaults. But Bucky did something I wasn’t ready for, something I thought we could have avoided until another time. 

He turned over my wrist, revealing the horrible, ugly scar from my broken. The ghostly silver lines haunted my skin, etchings of the stitches still plaguing my arm.

He breathed softly as he caressed the skin neighboring the scar, his eyes steady, “I’m so sorry he hurt you.” His voice was clearly troubled. 

“Yeah, well,” was all I could manage as I stared down at my ruined arm. I couldn’t complain in the slightest. Bucky had lost his entire arm and had it forcibly replaced with  _ metal. _ I closed my eyes, furrowed my brow, and took a deep breath. The pain he must be in daily was hard to fathom, and was next to nothing, absolutely pint-sized and trivial compared to an ugly scar. 

_He must have scars too._ _Gosh,_ he must have scars everywhere. _Seventy years._ It was still difficult to wrap my mind around. Some people _live_ less than that. Both of my parents didn't make it to seventy, for very different reasons, but still. Bucky had lived a _lifetime_ of pain and loneliness and I was concerned about a large skin blemish. 

_ God, I’m so petty.  _ I opened my eyes and laid my other hand on top of his. Bucky’s kind eyes met mine and I felt a rush of anger come across my chest. His past wasn’t fair, not in the slightest. He should have come home from the war as a celebrated hero and settled down in the suburbs rather than being kidnapped, tortured, and endlessly brainwashed. I squeezed his fingers, which had mindlessly intertwined with his. 

“I like holding your hands,” I said soothingly, lightly pulling and teasing at his knuckles. He snorted, looking away. I frowned and reached across the countertop for his other hand, “ _ Both  _ hands,” I emphasized, leaning in as I laced my fingers through his. 

Bucky stared down at his metal attachment with a puzzled expression. “It doesn’t-” He cut himself off, searching for the right words, “Freak you out?” 

I tilted my head, taking in his question and choosing my words carefully, “Under different circumstances, I guess a metal arm might be a little startling-”   
“Different circumstances?” He asked abruptly. 

I squeezed his hands reassuringly, “I just mean if it wasn’t attached to you.” Bucky’s face softened a bit, but dark clouds still floated around his expression. I leaned a little closer over the counter to try and read his eyes, “Does it freak  _ you _ out?” The question kind of tumbled out naturally, even though it probably would have been better not to ask. I suddenly worried that Bucky might feign another errand or engagement or something, but I just held onto his hands tightly. 

He considered the question laboriously, putting on a contemplative face before answering, “I don’t know.” Bucky looked up at me and I dipped my chin, desperately wanting him to continue. “It’s better than nothing at all I guess.” He managed a small smile which I returned with a shrug. A frown reappeared on his face, “And I can still feel with it, but it’s… different.” Bucky slowly drummed his fingers on top of mine, “I mean things feel different. Then again, I don’t think I- it was meant to do much else besides destroy.” He played with my fingers a bit, rubbing individual patches of skin, fireworks dancing across my hand. “You know,” A small smile turned upon his lips as he tossed his head to the other side, “Sometimes I forget what’s real.”

His confession tumbled out so casually it almost didn’t register in my thoughts. 

“Like yesterday,” He continued, “It felt like some kind of wonderful dream. And it was the first night since... I woke up without nightmares. But all my dreams are jumbled pieces of memories, and I can’t always tell which ones are real or fake.” Bucky gently squeezed my fingers and spoke in a whisper, “I can’t really trust my own mind.” 

Screw my arm, I’d give both my legs, an arm, my appendix, and kidneys if I could make him feel any better. He didn't say anything for the next few moments, studying my limp hand with his silver fingers. 

“I wish,” My voice was so small, “I wish I could make it better, easier, something.” I hung my head, 

“You do,” He said quietly. My eyes probably looked like saucers as my bottom lip fell. Bucky eventually glanced up to my face, the storm clouds dissipated replaced by relaxed sky blue. 

The oven beeped, shocking me out of my gaze, but Bucky held onto my hands a little longer. I started to pull away slowly when he let go all at once. 

“Sorry,” He crossed his arms across the table, “I uh, I like holding your hands too.” 

I didn't know how to recognize yet another compliment, so I just smiled sweetly, “Ready for the best damn blueberry muffins ever?” 

We spent the rest of the day on the couch, finishing up episode III of Star Wars and starting some other Disney classics. Meanwhile, I was just trying to figure out how to get him to kiss me again. I didn't want to make him uneasy or drum up too many emotions, so I tread rather lightly around anything too deep, walking carefully on glass. But it wasn’t the same glass house I was in with Jesse. This felt warmer and brighter. Before, I was afraid to get hurt by Jesse and now I was doing everything in my power to make sure  _ I  _ didn't hurt Bucky. All the feelings drumming around my chest felt brand new even though I had certainly cared about other men before. 

_ Maybe I just feel guilty because of his past? _ I considered. Did I just want to fix him? I turned my head to look at him gazing at the greens on the windowsill above the sink in the afternoon sun.

“What plants are these?” He raised a metal finger, grazing the edge of one of the tiny leaves. 

I smiled graciously, sliding over in my socks next to him. “That one’s parsley. And rosemary, oregano, thyme, and basil,” I pointed to each of varying plants. 

He studied them carefully. “Fascinating,” Bucky murmured quietly. 

The way he spoke, so interested in something so menial and ordinary made the butterflies in my stomach go absolutely nuts. This wasn’t just some mere fascination or a charity project, but the feelings in my gut were real. I didn't want to change him in any way, but I wanted to understand him better. To know what made him smile and what his dreams were. I wanted to know everything about him. 

“You know, I could teach you to cook sometime.” He eyed me suddenly, “There are lots of great recipes with parsley and oregano…” I drifted away from the counter slowly, and Bucky followed me with his gaze. “And I bet you’d really like a good French onion soup with fresh thyme.” I turned back, leaning against the counter to study him. 

“I might just take you up on that offer,” He affirmed as I smiled cheekily, “But what’s in it for you?” 

I tucked my head back, looking over him at the sun. “Good company?” I offered simply. 

He raised an eyebrow with a smile, “You consider  _ me  _ good company?” 

“Absolutely,” I reiterated, slipping my hands into his. Bucky looked down at our intertwined fingers and sighed, his faint smile growing into a grin. 

“Eleanor Graham,” He shook his head as my heart fluttered at his use of my full name. Bucky looked up, “I’m a pretty sad excuse for a chef.” 

“I don’t know. It couldn’t be harder than operating construction equipment.” 

He chuckled and rolled his eyes at me. 

“I’m serious!” I smiled, “It’s not too bad if you just take it slow, follow one step at a time,” Bucky pulled me by my hands into the open space next to the fridge, “And gradually,” my hands drifted to his neck as he slipped his around my waist, “With lots of practice,” he moved his face closer to mine, and I whispered against his lips, “You’re a pro.” 

When he kissed me I felt the world falling away and I melted into his body as he pulled me into him. My hand moved aimlessly through his soft hair and he ran a hand up my back. Goosebumps dotted my skin as his fingers drew circles and shapes around the space between my shoulder blades. I wanted to break away from delight, a moan simmering in my throat. 

“Meet back here in an hour?” He mumbled into my mouth. 

I kissed him again, “Gimme a few more minutes.” 

Bucky chuckled wickedly, pressing his forehead to mine and smiling as I kissed the edge of his mouth. He granted me those few more minutes and eventually pulled on his cap and gloves, laughing as I made eyes at him from the kitchen. 

“Seven knocks?” Bucky asked his hand on the doorknob. 

I nodded slowly with a smile, “Seven knocks.”

As soon as the door clicked behind him, I dashed around the apartment, showering, pulling out the right pots and utensils for cooking, throwing on a generic gray t-shirt and mesh sky blue shorts. 

_ Ingredients, ingredients,  _ I went through the list in my head for french onion soup. It was kind of a warm day for hot soup, but there was something consistently comforting about it, regardless of the weather. Fresh vegetables and cheese made their way into my grocery basket, as well as beef broth and a baguette, and some other things for the week ahead. 

_ What is up with me? _ I walked quickly back to my apartment, digging the keys into the various locks on my blue door. It had been a while since I was this excited about something, even if it was making soup with a former assassin. I stopped suddenly as I set my plastic bags on the countertop, “I’m making soup with a former assassin. Huh.” Was it strange that I wasn’t more scared? Uncle Gary was in the army with my dad and definitely did some not-so-great stuff. But he also wasn’t under control by some evil faction of people trying to take power from the rest of the world. 

I blew a piece of hair away that had fallen into my view as I watered the various plants around the windows. Was I in over my head falling for someone who barely remembered his past? 

_ And is seventy-one years older than me _ , I added in my mind, managing a smile. But even from what little he had told me, I was enamored. He could have been some scary, intimidating person with a metal arm, big muscles, and fabulous hair, but his eyes after he took out the robber told a different story. Those were frightened, terrified eyes of a man whose life had been stolen by malicious, power-hungry people; and he was just trying to navigate his way through the twenty-first century after not being himself for seventy years. 

_ Seventy years, _ the number stuck in my mind as I washed the carrots and onions in preparation for the soup. I couldn’t even imagine the sheer pain it must have been to try and picture simple things like your childhood home or family, and not be able to do it. Or the names of his brothers? That was a detail that really caught me. He honestly deserved so much more than he had been dealt, and was now arguably one of the most wanted criminals in the world; he didn't need to add that detail, but I kinda figured it. I rested my elbow down on the counter and looked out the kitchen window, partly obscured by my excess of herbs. It wasn’t fair. Life wasn’t fair.  _ Nothing  _ was fair. 

That was something my Dad used to always say. Like when I ten years old and got second place in the science fair for a project I had spent six months on and lost to a stupid vinegar volcano. But of course, the principal’s son had to walk away with first prize while the girl in glasses and a fascinating study about irradiation techniques and tomato plants  _ clearly  _ deserved better than second. I wasn’t still bitter about it sixteen years later though. Regardless, my parents and I spent the rest of the day at our special spot in the woods, so it ended up being a pretty good day. But that was only one instance. Most of Bucky’s life was stolen, and it was inexcusably criminal, yet here he was hiding from the government in a tiny New York town known for its excess of one type of tree. 

I walked around the counter to my desk and pulled out ‘Napoleon’s Buttons’. The binding was worn from being opened time after time, and the introduction was nearly falling out. I had read it so many times. The idea that buttons off a uniform could take down an army of 600,000 still amazed me and was one of the few reasons I loved chemistry so much. But that introduction did more than just open my eyes to the power of science, but also showed me the horrors of war. My Dad never spoke about his work overseas in Vietnam, and I could understand why. He suffered from PTSD and did his best to hide it but there were always little things that seemed off. I remember waking up to the sound of the kettle whistling in the middle of the night and sitting at the top of the stairs, listening to my mom talk in a hushed tone as a yellow light trickled out of the kitchen. The day after a late night, if it was warm enough, he’d spend the day in the garden, painstakingly pulling up tiny weeds and delicately pruning shrubs. But if it was cold, he’d lay out newspapers in his office and pull out a wooden easel and a massive canvas. Most of the time he’d paint a summer landscape with a lake or river, or a field with tulips or wildflowers. Occasionally, he’d do an abstract piece with some kind of unknown meaning that usually frightened me. There was one specific instance on a weekend near the end of February when the weather was particularly cold and bleak that I knocked on his office door. 

Old newspapers were scattered all over the maroon rug, and the easel stood precariously near the edge of the paper. My Dad was freshly shaven apart from his gray mustache and was dressed in a moose crew neck and plaid pajama pants and two mismatching socks. 

“Hey there Eggie,” He murmured faintly, looking at his piece over the top of his reading glasses without glancing in my direction. (Also the worst nickname in the whole world don’t even)

“Whatcha doing?” I asked, stepping carefully on the crinkly newspaper. 

He dipped a thin paintbrush into a dark gray color on his palette, “Just a little painting.” I rolled my feet trying not to make too much noise as I peered around the back of the canvas. My knees grew faint at the bleak, complex piece staring back at me and my father. The background was mostly black, but there were strange patterns and shapes in varying shades of white and gray sprinkled over the dark foreground. It may not have sounded too odd, but there was this uncomfortable, lonely feeling that seemed to radiate around it. 

“What do you think?” He asked, dropping a brush into a coffee mug with the 1988 winter Olympics logo printed on the side. Even as a ten-year-old, I knew better than to say anything, so I just nodded, picking at the skin on my thumb unsurely. My Dad turned his head to the side, narrowing his eyes at the details on the canvas while I looked around his office. Messy was a bit of an understatement, considering the stacks of folders and papers on his desk and tens of photographs tacked onto his corkboard behind it. Next to the desk was a chalkboard on wheels with various equations and math that I didn't yet understand. The bookshelf on the other side of the small room was packed with no apparent organization, physics books next to biographies and fiction novels beside outdoor field guides. A locked filing cabinet with three drawers stood in the corner with another pile of books and papers. The saddest sight was a cardboard box in the corner stacked with a shadow box and some other frames certificates. Opened envelopes and other trinkets lay strewn around as well. 

“I think it’s missing something,” He stood back wiping his hands with a cloth, and turned to me, “How about it?” 

“Maybe some yellow?” I whispered quaveringly. 

My Dad hummed, reaching for the shoebox full of paint bottles on the ground and a fresh paintbrush. Twenty minutes later, the two of us stepped back from the canvas admiring our work. 

“Now it kinda looks like a bunch of planetary nebulae or supernovas.” 

My Dad chuckled and pulled me into his side, “My little scientist.” I smiled back widely as my glasses were squished on the left side of my face. “I think this one’s a keeper,” He announced.

I sat down gently on the kitchen stool and stared across the empty space in the apartment to the painting that hung next to the blue door. If there was anything that kept me going through all the shit I waded through in life, it was that memory with my father. The feeling I had when I first saw that painting was one I never wanted to experience again, but with a little color it had transformed magnificently and warmed my joints anytime I looked at it. It also made my heartache for both of my parents. I slumped down against the counter and blew the same piece of hair out of my face. 

Where would I be if either of my parents hadn’t died? I probably would have finished college, for one thing, might have had my master’s degree by now, and would probably be working in a lab somewhere. Maybe I’d have even met someone better than Jesse. For one thing, I never would have worked at the diner, which meant I never would have met Bucky. 

I sighed loudly and exaggeratedly, turning away from the painting. My leather watch told me it had only been fifty-two minutes since Bucky had left, but it felt like longer. How was  _ that  _ possible? But at long last, seven knocks came at the door. I smiled and closed my eyes, my heart beating faster if that was any indicator. 

I flung open the door without caution, which was very unlike me. On the other side stood Bucky Barnes donned in a dark hoodie and t-shirt with matching mesh shorts. 

“Hi,” He smiled wide with sparkling blue eyes, baring his teeth. 

I forced out words as I pulled the door open, “Hey there.” Every muscle in my body just wanted to wrap myself up in him and kiss him everywhere until the sun set and rose again. 

Bucky stepped through the doorway gracefully and I noticed his bare legs adorned with dark sneakers. “It’s really hot outside,” He said, adjusting his hat briefly.

_ Holy calf muscles,  _ I thought, turning around. 

“And it’s about to get hot in here.” 

Bucky instantly turned on his heel with a raised eyebrow and I realized my mistake. 

“No! No no no!” My cheeks turned into tomatoes, “The soup! I meant, because-” He threw his head back and laughed, crinkles forming on the sides of his eyes. “Because we’re making soup.” 

I managed a smile and shook my head, swallowing my embarrassment for the moment, “Alright.” I headed for the kitchen to get started on the soup but Bucky caught my hand. He pulled me back into him, my hands landing around his hips. 

“You’re funny,” He murmured, the giant smile still plastered across his face as my heart rate escalated in his arms. I was about to sass him but he kissed me instead. 

_ God, _ kissing him felt  _ so good.  _ I really didn't think kisses were supposed to feel  _ that  _ good. Fireworks exploded in my stomach and all around my body as both of his hands landed near my neck and shoulders. With my hands around his waist, I could feel how firm and toned he really was, which somehow just excited me more. Most surprising was that fact he had kissed me after a botched word placement. Man, if I knew that’s all it took to get him to kiss me I would have done it more often. He left my lips and held me tenderly, still smiling. 

“I like your legs,” I blurted unwisely. 

Bucky laughed again, exposing his teeth. I kissed his cheek and ran my hands up his back, exploring the muscles I had scarcely felt. Part of me really wished he had on two fewer layers. 

“Come on,” I gave him a peck on the lips, “Soup’s not going to make itself.” 

Bucky pulled me closer, “Gimme a few more minutes.” 

Now it was my turn to laugh as he laid his lips on my jawline and all over my neck. His beard tickled the sensitive skin on my neck and I breathed heavily, enjoying and relishing every second his lips were on me. I involuntarily clawed into his back as he found that spot on my jawline. A shocking moan slipped from my throat and I bit my bottom lip to prevent any more from getting out. He, in turn, nipped at the edges of my mouth and I sighed into his mouth. 

“See? Now it  _ is _ hot in here,” Bucky teased. I met his eyes and caressed a cheek with one hand. 

“I suppose so,” I smiled back. 

Now, french onion soup is great. It’s perfect for a cold winter night or sweltering spring afternoon. But cutting onions will always be the  _ worst  _ thing to do in the kitchen. We rushed through that part rather quickly, and Bucky actually already had some pretty good knife skills. And though part of me kinda wanted to know where those came from, I refrained from asking. We sauteed the onions and carrots, added beef broth to the pot, and sprinkled in a bit of thyme. Soon enough, two ramekins were in the oven, gruyere cheese bubbling on top. The smell of thyme and  _ home _ filled the apartment and the two of us were soon bundled up on the couch with hot bowls of soup while it was eighty-five degrees outside. 

I wouldn’t have changed a thing. 

But as the night progressed, Bucky started to grow distant. We started out with elbows touching but ended on opposite sides of the couch. I wasn’t sure what had transpired if I had done something or accidentally triggered a memory like a day before, but his silence wasn’t sitting well with me. As the credits began to roll for the movie, I scooted over to him, pressed carefully against the left armrest. 

“It’s getting late,” I whispered, running my knuckles up his arm, “You’re welcome to stay if you want.” He opened his mouth as if to say something, but nothing came out. I studied him carefully; his chest and arms seemed tense and closed off. Eventually, he turned his head to me and smiled gently. 

“Thank you.” He leaned over and kissed my cheek sweetly. 

I tucked a piece of hair behind his ear, “I’ll meet you in there okay? I gotta check on my plants.” 

“Okay,” he mouthed with a ghosted smile. Both of us stood up from the couch and parted ways for the short time being. 

_ What happened? _ I chewed on the skin of my thumb nervously and checked the soil of the herbs on the windowsill. Parsley and Basil were so fickle when it came to sunlight and water that I habitually started checking them and all my other plants throughout the day just to make sure they were doing okay. Once that was finished, I clicked the light over the countertop off and eyed the french doors to the bedroom hesitantly. I peeked my head around the corner and saw Bucky sitting on one side of the bed, rubbing his hands unsurely. It broke my heart to see an expression of such sad confusion on his face. I pushed one of the doors open and silently made my way over to him. 

I sat down next to him on the edge of the bed and laid a light hand on his shoulder, “Hey, you okay?” 

Bucky turned his head to me, “Yeah,” he forced a smile, “Yeah of course.” 

I snuggled closer to him as my hand trickled over to his face and softly caressed his cheek, searching his eyes for answers. The bright blue from earlier had dulled and was left with a different kind of turmoil I hadn’t seen in him before. 

I managed a quiet, “Okay,” compelling myself to believe him. But something still wasn’t right. 

Bucky brought his right hand to my face, drawing circles with his thumb as I tucked my arm behind his neck. He leaned down and kissed me gently, seeming to relax in the slightest. I closed my eyes, rubbing my hand across his stiff shoulders, just wanting him to ease off.  But he suddenly pulled his head and arm away and faced the rug with tightly shut eyes and strained lips. My stomach dropped to my toes as my legs grew tense. I rested my head on his shoulder, trying to figure out how to proceed. He was difficult to read, especially when there could have been a thousand things I’d done wrong. 

“Hey,” I laid a palm on his bare knee and forced a smile, “You gotta stop doing that.” 

“What?” He asked quickly, pulling himself from me, “Kissing you?!” His voice was incredibly tight and pained, his bulging eyes filled with even more concern than before. 

“No!” I tried to make my voice more soothing, “Pulling away!” 

Bucky realized what I meant and closed his eyes. He groaned, falling back against the pillows and hiding his face in his hands. 

_ Elle you dumbass. _ I was just making things worse. Exceptionally, infinitely worse. Misery started to rise up from my toes as I watched him writhe in helpless confusion, running his hands through his hair. I was at a loss. Asking questions seemed too personal, and I didn't want to bring back any bad memories, and he seemed against physical contact for the moment. I turned and faced him, sitting cross-legged on the bed. 

“Elle.” I craned my neck forward to see him shaking his head with eyes closed tightly. “What are we doing?” 

My eyes narrowed as I considered his question. “What do you mean?” I whispered. 

Bucky sat up suddenly, matching my crossed legs. He might have only been in a generic t-shirt and shorts, but his glistening eyes and soft hair looked magnificent in the moonlight. But the pain in his face still shook me. 

“I mean,” Bucky ran another hand through his hair,” What are…  _ we  _ doing?” He met my eyes slowly and unsurely. 

My mind went blank as I stared back at him. My voice was soft as I spoke through a smile, “That’s what this is about?” He looked away as my conscience came back to me. “Bucky,” I crawled into his lap and sat on his thick thighs, my hands cupping his cheeks, “Look at me.” 

He swallowed uncertainly and met my eyes. I brushed his unruly hair away from his eyes as he gripped onto my wrists lightly and bit his lip. 

“I like you, Bucky Barnes,” I said with conviction. 

“I can’t give you anything,” He whimpered, dropping his hands “My future is uncertain and you deserve better.”

I held back a frown and transferred my hands to his shoulders, “Bucky,  _ you _ are enough.”

He shook his head away, “You shouldn’t want me.” 

It both baffled me and broke my heart that he couldn’t accept another person’s affections. My hands slipped behind him and I rubbed his back gently. “You think I don’t?” I inquired quietly. 

“No!” He said quickly, “I just...” Bucky turned further away without completing his thought. 

I knitted my eyebrows and angled my head to try and see his eyes. “Because I do.” 

He sighed heavily as his jaw twitched to one side. 

“I mean it,” I said, still a little stunned over this conversation. My left hand stayed firmly on his back as the other traced around the hemmed collar of his t-shirt, my eyes following. “I want to walk with you and listen to you,” My hand made its way to his left shoulder. How could this man,  _ this man  _ think he wasn’t wanted, “I want to make you laugh, and make you smile,” He was brilliant, kind, so incredibly generous, and made me feel so genuinely incredible. His past was simply that,  _ passed,  _ as cliche as that sounds. My voice was barely audible as I felt tears in my eyes, “I want to hug you and hold you,” I caressed his metal bicep, “Touch you,  _ kiss  _ you…” 

Bucky surprised me as his right hand cupped my cheek. Slowly, my eyes went to his lips and eventually his tired blue eyes. I closed my eyes and leaned down into his hand. Instinctively, my lips went to skin and kissed him gently. 

“I just want  _ you.  _ All of you.” I whispered against his hand. I opened my eyes and gazed into him. Bucky’s face hardened as I intertwined my fingers with his. “But what do you want?” 

His mouth fell open as his fingers continued to dance delicately across my cheek. 

“I-” He hesitated, looking down pensively. I waited, trying to remain calm. The only thing I wanted was for him to feel relaxed and safe. At last, his hopeful eyes met mine again. “You,” He breathed, taking a few deep breaths. I held eye contact with him as he nibbled on the side of his upper lip. Bucky shook his head suddenly, “Elle,” He gripped tighter onto my hand and cheek, “I want you,” He moved closer and shook his head, “I want you, I want you, I just want-” 

Our lips collided, both of us with the same idea. I laid both of my arms around the small of his back as the hand he had on my face moved to the back of my head. He sat up away from the pillows and pulled me into his form with his other hand. I slid down his legs and met his chest and groin happily. This kiss felt different from others we’d shared though; this was desperate and needy. I kicked my legs behind him and dug my fingers into his lower back, giving myself completely to him as we kissed again and again. One of my thumbs felt around the right side of his spine and Bucky suddenly moaned into my lips, breaking our connection. I breathed and traced my lips across his jaw and back to his ear, leaving deep, open-mouthed kisses in my path. He tilted his head to the side, granting me exactly what I wanted. I ground myself against him and brought one hand up to his face, the other still planted firmly on the soft spot near the small of his back. A low rumble sounded in his throat, clearly trying to hold a groan back. 

I sucked and nibbled at the skin on his neck. “I wanna hear you,” I purred. 

Bucky exhaled shakily and brought a hand to my face. He chased my lips down and kissed me again, and a rush of butterflies burst from my stomach. I felt myself go weightless as his hands came across my back, his fingers trailing all over my thin t-shirt. Without losing a beat, Bucky pushed me down against the mattress so he was both on top of me, and in control. 

Bucky crooned directly in my ear, “I wanna hear you too.” He went directly to the soft spot under my jaw and I gasped suddenly. His teeth brushed my neck and he tore at my skin with his lips. A real moan fell out of my mouth and he kissed me again. And I felt helpless and dizzy with him on top of me in the most wonderful, wonderful way. 

Finally, with both of us feeling hot and heavy, we crawled under the covers for a Sunday night’s rest. I have to admit that it was unbelievably comfortable to have him and his warm chest pressed to my back and an arm around me. 

“Goodnight, Elle,” He whispered in my ear, sending tingling shivers all throughout my body. 

I laced my hand through his and pressed one last kiss to his skin. “Goodnight, Bucky.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading!! <3


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A shorter chapter in preparation for the emotions of the next one...

Monday, May 12 

When I woke up, the warmth from behind me was gone. Fear coursed through my skin and I shuddered, worried he had run again. 

“Hey,” a soft voice came from the living room and Bucky peered around one of the french doors, “I didn't mean to wake you.” His shoes and jacket were already on, and it was clear he was about to leave. 

“Oh it’s nothing,” I said quickly, sitting up on my elbows, “You heading out?” 

“Yeah,” he looked down as he walked slowly back to the bed, “Yeah I gotta be out early.” 

I nodded slowly, managing a smile. 

“So, I uh, guess I’ll be off.” 

My face softened as I turned my head and held out a hand, “Come here.” 

Bucky kicked a foot out as he smiled and knelt down, taking my hand. His smile was intoxicating even so early in the morning and the warmth spread back across my chest. 

“Have a good day,” He whispered, pressing his soft lips to my forehead. Bucky started to stand and pull away when I narrowed my eyes and smiled sinfully. 

“Get back here,” I pressed a purposeful kiss to his sweet, surprised lips. He seemed a little taken aback at my gesture but, thankfully, accepted me. After a few heavenly seconds, we both dropped our connection and a massive smile split my face. “Have a great day,” I murmured, “See you later.” 

Bucky looked a little unsure but nodded with a half-smile. Without another word, he slipped out of the bedroom and quietly shut the front door behind him. I laid back down on the pillows mulling over everything that happened over the weekend. Falling asleep on the couch felt  _ so  _ long ago, and I really wished he was still lying next to me. I rolled over and stared at the window, dull

sunlight streaming into the room. When my head hit the pillow again, I should have instantly fallen asleep again, but the thought of an unlocked door gnawed at the insides of my brain. 

_ Stupid, stupid, stupid,  _ I told myself as I padded over to the door and turned each of the locks. My forehead hit the door as I groaned loudly,  _ I hate Mondays.  _

The diner was slow throughout the morning and afternoon. And luckily, I only worked until six that day, so I only had to worry about the first half of the dinner rush. 

“Until tomorrow,” I said under my breath, shutting the heavy back door behind me. It was days like this Monday that really showed me how five years had easily flown by. Working at the diner was supposed to only be a temporary thing, but five whole years had disappeared behind me, and now I was almost twenty-seven years old. 

_ But working at the diner isn’t the worst thing in the world, _ I told myself all too regularly. I blew a piece of hair out of my eyes. Working at the diner wasn’t bad, but it wasn’t what I wanted. I had always dreamed of working in a big laboratory developing new drugs and medications to help people. I pushed my way through the front door to the building and trudged up the stairs. 

_ I could go back, _ my fingers slid up the banister,  _ I only need a few more classes. _ But could I actually do it? Sure, I still read about things that were happening in the field, but I hadn’t worked with chemicals in a laboratory in a rather long time. Who knew if I really could go back. 

_ Looking around wouldn’t hurt _ . I undid the locks on my door and hung my purse up on the hook,  _ maybe Appleton College? _ It was a thirty-minute drive and I could still keep my apartment, maybe work at the diner on weekends or in the evening?  _ Plus I could still see Bucky-  _

I stopped in my tracks, holding onto the french door. Was I planning Bucky into my future? No. No, I couldn’t do that to him or to me. Plus, I had only known him for what, two weeks? But even still, I felt accountable for him. He didn't know anyone else in town, and my  _ god _ his whole story was the worst, most awful, and literally heartbreaking thing I’d ever heard. And I didn't want to change him, I just wanted to be there for him. I wanted to be a strong constant _something_. I knew that if I had allowed myself to have someone to help myself get back up after my mom died, maybe I would have gone back to school earlier, and maybe never would have dated Jesse, though Bucky and I had drastically different situations. Maybe he needed something different. Perhaps he needed to just be alone to sort everything out. Speaking of being alone, I hadn’t seen Bucky all day. He was probably still working. Besides,  _ besides _ , ‘see you later’ meant lots of things. It could mean see you later in the day or evening, see you later tomorrow, see you later… never. 

I groaned, tossing my blue dress shirt into the hamper,  _ relax, relax, _ I said over and over in my head. God just thinking about him made the butterflies in my stomach go crazy. I changed into some comfy pajamas and put the kettle over the burner and made enough coffee for two, just in case he decided to show up later. Except, I didn't need coffee for two. By eleven, I figured he wasn’t coming. I was certainly disappointed, but I couldn’t hold it over him. He surely needed his space, but I did miss him. That was stupid, right? Yes. Ridiculously stupid. Crawling under the covers, I stayed securely on my side of the bed, not that it was necessarily _ my  _ side and  _ his  _ side but… I covered my face with a pillow groaning loudly. 

“Tomorrow,” I told myself, “I’ll see him tomorrow.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading!!! <3 <3

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for taking the time to read!
> 
> Find me on tumblr at egg-bugg


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